Darkness Lifting
by Linda Atkinson
Summary: AU for Season 2 after In My Time Of Dying. The boys go on a case, meet with an old friend and find out their dad might not be dead. GEN but rated T for violence.
1. Chapter 1

Darkness Falling Pt 1

Author: Linda Atkinson

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Some language, violence

Summary: I don't like the fact that John is dead. I know he is supposed to resurface, one way or another, but I want him alive again, with his boys again. So I'm fixing it, at least in my little corner of the universe.

My thanks to Sioux_Sioux for the wonderful beta on the story.

**Adams, Tennessee.**

The road faded into a dirt track just barely visible in the knee tall grass of the meadow. The fall weather was remarkably mild for this time of the year and the rain had not began falling leaving the grass dead, yellow and sharp bladed. Wading through the mass of vegetation two teenagers halted their progress across the meadow looking back at the burgundy colored Pontiac Grand Am parked just off the road. The car was a small dot on the horizon and the girl nervously glanced up at her companion.

"Jessie," she said tugging on the blue jean jacketed arm around her waist. "Maybe we should just go back to the car. I don't think we should go all the way to the cave. My daddy'll be real mad if I'm late for supper."

The boy rolled his eyes and tugged her around to face him.

"Crystal Ann, we just need to get one stupid little rock from the cave and take it back to Tyler. It'll be our proof that we went all the way…"

He grinned at her and she punched him on the arm.

"All the way to the cave, I mean. Jeez don't you have any kind of a sense of humor anymore?"

Crystal Ann looked doubtfully at him and Jessie could see the furrow beginning to form between her brows. It was her 'I want' look and he was increasingly subject to it in the recent weeks that they had been dating. He also knew that if he didn't get her moving he risked losing the battle before the war even started. Turning he dropped his arm from around her waist and took off in a long loping stride toward the creek and the little stone bridge crossing it. On the other side of the creek was a path up the rolling foothill to the old coal mines and the even older Civil War cave. The cave supposedly had been a hideout for Confederate soldiers who deserted from the battle of Adam's Meadow, a little known and unremarkable battle early in the war.

All that anyone was sure about the battle was that two Confederate and three Union soldiers had died in Adam's Meadow, near the mouth of the old cave. Their graves were set aside in the cemetery of Prospect Baptist Church on Brickyard Road. The only thing that Jessie could remember hearing about the deaths was that they were 'funny', not funny ha-ha, but funny peculiar. All five boys didn't have a mark on them. But all were as dead as proverbial doornails come morning time.

It was only after the war that rumors started with distance cousins or some relatives of old John Bell relating that the Bell girls had died in the same 'funny' way. All three girls stone cold dead and not a mark on them either. It was then that tales began circulating about the Bell Witch.

Jessie turned back smirking at the girl following reluctantly behind him.

"Come on, Crystal Ann."

He waved her forward and frowned when she stopped short, jutting her chin out at him. He turned back to the mouth of the cave.

"I'm going to get a geode from the cave. Charlie Marcum said that there are about a hundred in there and that way Tyler will know that we actually went into the place instead of just picking up any old piece of granite out of the meadow."

Crystal Ann glared at him, the 'I want' line forming between her brows again.

"There are bats in that cave, too. What if one of them gets caught in my hair? They bite you know. Can bats get rabies?"

"I don't know," he replied not looking back. "Look, we don't have to go too far in, just enough to get to that first big room, area, whatever you call it. That's were all the rocks are. I'll just grab something quick and we'll get out. We'll be back at the car before you know it."

The hike to cave was a short one, but both kids were still winded when they got to the top of the hill. Jessie gasped for breath grabbing Crystal Ann's wrist and hauling her the last few inches up the hill. She leaned back against him. His arm came up around her waist automatically, without conscious effort. With a panted breath Crystal Ann pulled her hair out of the collar of her blouse and wrapped it around her fingers. Quickly she tugged the scrunchie she was wearing on her arm over her wrist and wrapped her hair into a sloppy ponytail.

"God, I'm sweating," she hissed glaring at the boy. "This had better be worth all the trouble."

He offered her a lame smile and then glanced at the mouth of the cave. The interior of the cave was inky black and he fished a small flashlight out of his jeans pocket.

She looked at him.

"Is that it? That's all you brought for light? We'll never find anything in there."

He was beginning to get seriously annoyed with her now.

"Oh shut up," Jessie hissed and flinched at the look that earned him. "I…mean. It'll be enough."

"I'm not wasting another Saturday afternoon with you doing this, Jessie McAllen."

Crystal Ann put out her hand for the flashlight and Jessie surrendered it with modest good grace. She flicked the light on and aimed it at the mouth of the cave. Both kids ducked although the cave opening was more than high enough for them to enter.

The cave entrance was narrow and they had to squeeze in slightly sideways. Jessie slipped past her as she played the light beam over the cave floor. The entrance opened up into a fairly large room.

The cave was rough hewn almost as if it had been purposely cut out of the living rock. When Jessie stepped closer to the cave wall he could see that the surface was covered in some kind of slimy moss. The slick mass glowed with a faint, sickly green luminescence that cast a pale glow on the cave walls and floor. Tentatively Jessie stretched out his hand, swiping his fingers through the sticky mass. The moss clung to his hand. He jerked it away, half expecting the stuff to burn but it did nothing. Crystal Ann leaned in close behind him and the boy jumped. She snickered into his ear,

"Boy, if I knew that you were going to be such a scaredy cat, I wouldn't have come up here with you."

Jessie shot her a look over his shoulder. Quickly he picked up the pace, tugging her along in his wake. She resisted.

"Don't go so fast." Grumbling under her breath Crystal Ann struggled to keep up. "I can't see in this dark. I don't want to trip over something."

"I don't see anything for you to trip over. I was hoping that the geodes would be here in the entrance so we didn't have to go too far inside. But there's nothing."

Crystal Ann demurred, "Look, I don't want to get lost in here. It would take them forever to find us. Maybe we should go back…"

Jessie shook his head, swearing softly.

"Just a little bit further, I know that they're in here somewhere. We won't go off into any of the side paths, okay? One way in and one way out. We can't get lost."

"We better not."

The girl paused cocking her head to one side. From some where far off she could hear a faint sound, like the creaking of a tree branch in a hard wind, or the tread of a footfall.

"Do you think that there's anyone else in here but us?"

"No, I don't think so why?"

"I think that I hear something. Maybe like an animal or something. It's not your stupid friends, is it? If you think they're going to jump out all covered in fake blood or something and scare me, you'd better think again."

Jessie rolled his eyes,

"I swear it's nobody. There is nobody here but us. Come on I see a little dip in the wall, maybe there's a rock there and we can get out of here."

The path that they were walking on veered sharply to the right and the little dip in the wall became the entrance to another room in the cave. Jessie flashed the light over the wall. The opening to the other room was covered by wooden railroad slats nailed into the wall with rusted iron spikes. There were at least fifteen boards, some laid haphazardly over the others and held in place by the thick iron nails. Jessie leaned against the boards, tugging at the overlapping slats. The boards wouldn't budge. He handed the light to Crystal Ann and ducked his head under the topmost board.

"Hey, shine the light in here. I see a whole new room. I wonder what's in there. Look at all the boards they used to keep the opening closed. They must have really wanted to keep people out."

Nervously Crystal Ann stepped back.

"Maybe they wanted to keep something in."

Jessie shrugged.

"Well, we're not getting in there."

He bent down trying to look under the bottommost board. Slipping he dropped his hand down quickly to steady himself. Then he glanced down. Quickly he flicked the flashlight beam onto the floor. The ground in front of the entrance was covered in white crystals. They were large and coarse and he raked his finger through the pile, lifting them to inspect the stuff. He put his hand to his nose and sniffed experimentally.

"What is it? Is it a diamond?" Crystal Ann asked, pressing up against Jessie.

He shook his head.

"No, it's just rock salt and ashes. It's piled up all around the entrance to the room. And it looks like its all over the inside, too."

Jessie rose, his feet slipping in the loose soil breaking the line of salt, scattering it over the floor. He stumbled over something just beneath the board and dropped to his knees scraping the dirt and salt away from the entrance. With a gleeful grin he triumphantly raised a small, egg-shaped rock into the air. Quickly Jessie turned to the girl handing her the flashlight.

"Crystal Ann, shine it over here."

Dutifully she flashed the beam over the rock as Jessie turned it over in his hands. It was grey in color and broken open just at mid point. The crystals inside the dull outer shell were blood red, deep crimson and strikingly beautiful. Crystal Ann leaned over running her finger over the inner surface of the geode. Suddenly she jerked her hand back.

"Ouch, damn it, I cut my finger."

She held up the wounded digit for the boy to inspect. Jessie squeezed the finger and several drops of blood well up, spattering on the floor.

"Hey, stop it that hurts."

The drops of blood sank into the salted ashes and the faint breeze stirred causing the dust of the cave floor to dance and whirl. The breeze rose lifting the helm of the girl's shirt and she shivered, hugging her arms around her self. Jessie noticed her shaking and touched her arm.

"Jeeze Louise, you're freezing. Let's get out of here; we got what we came for."

"Yeah, come on, it is getting pretty cold in here. That sure is a pretty one. You're not going to give it to Tyler are you?"

Jessie smiled at her, knowing a hint when he heard one.

"No, I'll just show it to him. You can have it."

Crystal Ann smiled up at him, tucking the geode into the crook of her elbow.

They had almost made it to the mouth of the cave when the earth began to tremble. From somewhere behind them an explosion rattled the walls of the cave. The boards covering the side room in the cave bowed outward, sending shards of wood through the air. A splinter caught Jessie in the face, digging a trench in his cheek but he barely noticed the pain. Stumbling he hit the wall of the cave, putting up a hand to steady himself. Crystal Ann grasped his arm trying to keep him from falling to the ground but Jessie was thirty pounds heavier than the girl and both kids bounced once off the cave wall and tumbled to the floor.

There was a rush of cold air jetting out of the cave mouth and something large and black swirled out of the darkness. The thing floated above both teenagers briefly and Crystal Ann screamed throwing one arm over her head. The black figure swooped down and then flew out of the mouth of the cave.

Shakily Jessie rose to his feet. Quickly he pulled the girl up beside him staring out of the cave into the late evening sky. The sun had dipped behind the hills and the meadow was shrouded in deepening gloom. Far above their heads the first faint glimmering stars sparkled in the sky.

"Did you see that?" Crystal Ann asked brushing her hair out of her face. "What was it; it looked awfully big for a bat."

Jessie shrugged.

"It was probably just an owl. They get pretty big. Come on it's a lot later than I thought and I've got to get to football practice. I'll drop you off at your house on the way."

The two kids raced across the meadow as fast as the tall grass would allow. Jessie slammed the car door shut and revved the engine. The Grand Am swung into a shaky

u-turn and headed back toward town. As the lights of town came into view Jessie slowed the car. As he turned the last curve onto Brickyard Road they passed the church and the cemetery. The faint shapes of the headstones darker shadows beneath the lush branches of the oak trees. Jessie pulled the car into the driveway of a large white and brick house a few blocks down from the church. A Sheriff's department patrol car was parked beside a jeep and a mini-van. Crystal Ann jumped out of the Grand Am rushing up the driveway. A man dressed in a kaki uniform and green jacket raised a hand waving at Jessie as the boy pulled out of the driveway and sped off up the street.

The man frowned after the car and then motioned his daughter over.

"You need to tell that boy to slow down before he gets himself or you killed."

Crystal Ann hugged him and he dropped his arm around her shoulder before propelling her toward the porch with a gentle push. She danced up the stairs then scramble into the room. Holding her treasure up in the warm light she tugged her father's arm.

"Daddy, look what we found."

Glancing down he took the geode and turned it in the light.

"Yeah, that's real pretty. Did you forget you were supposed to go to Betty's for supper tonight since your Momma is out? Unless you want to eat my cooking."

Crystal Ann pulled a comic grimace, digging her elbow into her father's side.

"No thanks. I'll head over there then. I'll call you when I'm ready for you to pick me up."

"Did I say I was picking you up, girl?" he looked out the window frowned a little, then sighed. "It is getting pretty dark. Why don't you let me take you over there? I promise we won't go in my patrol car again."

The girl rolled her eyes.

"Daddy, its three blocks over. I know the way. Besides I'll cut through the cemetery."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Daaaaddy! What are you afraid of? That the zombies will eat me." She chuckled under her breath and the man laughed with her.

"Hell no, they'd probably choke on you."

He looked around but the door had already swung closed. Picking up the mail he disappeared into the kitchen.

Crystal Ann had been going to the Prospect Baptist Church Cemetery for as long as she could remember. All her Grandparents were buried there, most of her other family including her older brother Jimmy was there as well. She flipped the latch on the wrought iron gate and pulled it open. The gate squealed a little and she frowned making a mental note to call Jules Botner the groundskeeper about oiling the hinges. She took a family pride in the well maintained grounds of the neat white church building and the rolling green hills of the churchyard.

Far across the flat grassy area of the newer graves with their flat bronze plaques was the mausoleum with its gleaming white marble walls. The fountain in front of the mausoleum was still jetting the thin stream of water that pattered on the fountain lip. Behind the fountain a trio of marble angels stood guard, their vacant eyes following Crystal Ann's every movement. She paused cocking her head. From somewhere farther up the trail she could hear the faint rustling of cloth. She paused, the cemetery had always been a comforting place for her and she was not afraid of it as so many of her peers were. She often came to read or sketch sitting on a bench by Jimmy's grave. She had no qualms about being here, even in the night. She had no fear of the dead, they couldn't hurt you.

A sudden thought caused her to pause, the dead might not hurt her but the living could.

"Who's there?" she asked her voice trembling.

The rustling sound grew closer. A twig snapped and she jumped. Turning around Crystal Ann skirted around the fountain.

"Betty?"

A second twig snapped causing her to flinch.

"That's not funny. Who's there? My daddy is the sheriff so you'd better just move along."

The rustling was noticeably louder and the sound of footfalls was audible now. With a frightened bleat the girl whirled heading back down the path to the gate. Her shin barked up against the fountain and she tumbled. Her arm sank into the cold water, a thin scream emanated from her lips. Jerking around Crystal Ann scanned the hill. The dark, amorphous shapes of the tombstones bled into the darker gray of the underbrush and it was impossible to see who might be walking among the trees. Quickly Crystal Ann walked towards the well lit walkway circling the mausoleum. She paused at the corner of the building. She could see the lights of Seventh Street just beyond the fence on the opposite side of the cemetery. Taking a deep breath she stepped off the marble walkway and onto the dirt trail.

The wind whipped the branches of the oak trees lining the path and dust flew into her eyes. The girls wiped at her face with the sleeve of her shirt stumbling toward the nearest tree. A dark shape rose up out of the ground blocking out the light. Before she could scream, a thin bony hand closed over her mouth. Her eyes bulged and she grasped weakly at the thin arms circling her body.

Choking and gasping Crystal Ann tugged at the iron-like fingers throttling her. Her head was pounding and her vision was beginning to blur. She managed to pry one of the hands free and whirled striking out with her free hand. The staring face made Crystal Ann shriek in terror. Pale, gray-white skin was stretched over a bony visage with deep sunken cheeks and hollow eyes. Lank gray hair fell around the shriveled cheeks and bony forehead. Only the pale orbs inside the black sockets held any life. They gleamed with an insane hatred. The iron fingers clutched her throat; the face loomed over her until the toothless maw gaped open. The crone cackled faintly drawing a deep breath.

Suddenly the old hag thrust a hand out, her fingers dug into the girl's chest. Crystal Ann jerked violently as the bony digits buried themselves deep inside her flesh. Her face contorted in agony as the witch squeezed her hand, clasping the girl's heart. Within moments the girl hung lifelessly in her hands. With a sigh the witch pulled her fingers free of the dead flesh and tossed the body on the ground. Crystal Ann laid sprawled on the marble walkway her eyes staring blankly at the night sky.

The door to the motel room opened briefly and a head poked out. The tall young man yawned hugely and ducked back inside.

"Dean, what the hell is so important that we have to get up at five o'clock in the morning? It's not even light outside."

Sam Winchester turned to his brother. Dean pulled a tee-shirt over his head then shoved the rest of his clothing back into the canvas duffle bag lying on the bed. 

"I saw something on the news last night; I just wanted to check it out."

Sam frowned again taking the bag from his brother's outstretched hand.

"I thought we went over this before. You have got to stop trying to make something out of every little thing that we see or hear."

Sam followed his brother around the room as Dean tucked his shirt into his jeans and gathered his watch up from the bedside table.

"I was right the last time, Sammy. It's not inconceivable that I may just know how to do this job. Dad….I learned to do it right. So just cut me some slack. Besides the case is in Tennessee and I thought we could check in with Aunt Maggie. I haven't told her…she doesn't know about…."

Dean snagged the duffle bag from Sam's hand as he walked past. Sam closed his eyes. Every time Dean stuttered just a little bit more when he mentioned their father, Sam felt a tightening in his chest; a sort of vague fluttering that had nothing to do with visions or demons. At least not the ones they were looking for.

Gathering his own bag from his bed Sam trudged out into the cold morning air. Dean was already standing beside the Impala when Sam walked up. Sam pulled the collar of his jacket a little tighter around his neck and then swung his bag onto the bumper while Dean opened the trunk.

"Dean, I thought that you called Aunt Maggie. I asked you to."

"I did call her. I just hung up before she could answer."

Dean pulled up the trunk lid and shoved the contents of the trunk around making room for their things. Sam waited while his brother arranged things in the trunk, just the way he wanted and then hoisted his bag up. He stopped short, mouth gaping open a little. His eyes fell on the black duffle bag with tan canvas straps still snuggled deep into the back of the trunk. He coughed,

"Dean, I thought that you were going to take care of that too…"

"Take care of what, Sammy?"

Dean dropped his bag into the trunk half covering the other one. With an annoyed glare he held out a hand and Sam tossed his own bag to Dean. His brother pressed both knapsacks back into the trunk so that they could still get to the door in the false bottom and the weapons cached inside. Sam sighed, so that was the way it was. They were back not talking about it, again. He glanced at Dean but his brother refused to look at him. He just slammed the trunk lid shut and headed to the driver's door. Sam stood looking down at the trunk thinking about the duffle bag full of clothes and personal effects of a man who wasn't going to use them again. This not talking was getting to be a habit. Sort of like that elephant in the room no one wanted to mention, only Sam prayed that they weren't hip deep in shit before they finally got around to mentioning it.

They ate breakfast at the diner just across the street from the motel. Dean had spent a good part of the night making phony ids for them again. He handed Sam a driver's license from Alaska that went with the credit cards Dean had scammed for them. These ids and cards were brand new and would cut any paper trail that they had left behind at the last case.

While Dean finished the last of his food, Sam glanced at the laptop sitting on the table.

"So what have you got?" he asked casually.

Dean looked up at his brother and pushed the computer over. Sam leaned down scanning through the news article from the Knoxville Herald. The headline read that two teenagers had been killed in Adams, a small town just south of Knoxville. The deaths were ruled natural, but both teens had died of cardiac arrest on the same night. Sam glanced at Dean.

"Two otherwise healthy teenagers, both with no history of heart problems just keeled over on the same night of cardiac arrest, not a mark on either of them."

Sam frowned.

"It could be drugs," he said.

Dean shook his head.

"The medical examiner says otherwise. No drugs in either one of them. And that article was from last week. Last night on the news I saw a story about another teenager dying of cardiac arrest in the same town."

Sam nodded,

"Okay, maybe three in two weeks is pushing it. So I guess we head to Tennessee. It's going to take a couple of days though. We'll watch the newspapers and see if anything else happens."

"Yeah," Dean added. "And Kingston is not too far from Adams. We can stop by Aunt Maggie's on the way. She may already be working on it, hell; I wouldn't be surprised if she didn't take care of it before we get there."

Sam shook his head.

"Aunt Maggie doesn't hunt anymore, not since the accident. But she'll know what's going on for sure."

Dean picked up the check and moved to the cash register. He smiled at the middle-aged waitress who was standing behind the counter and handed her a credit card. She took it indifferently, rang the check and handed it too him. Sam was standing beside the car, gazing at the traffic on the road when Dean came up behind him. Dean shuffled from foot to foot for a second then touched his brother on the arm.

"Sammy, you okay?"

Sam shrugged and then nodded.

"Yeah, I'm doing okay. I just wish that you would admit that you're hurting too…"

Dean opened the car door and slid behind the wheel.

"I'm not hurting. Sam. I know that Dad made a choice; that he did it to get me back. I should have died, Sam. I'm just pissed off that Dad thought he had the right to make that choice for me."

"When did he ever give us a choice?"

Sam slammed the car door and Dean shot him a look.

With a growl Sam pulled his seatbelt over his shoulder.

"You're not pissed off. You and Dad spent more time together than I did with him. It's okay for you to be scared and lonely."

Dean dropped his head to the steering wheel thumping it several times.

"Jeezus, give me a break, Dr. Phil. Will you?"

He started the engine and pulled into the lane of traffic. It only took a few minutes to reach the on-ramp to the highway and they were off and running again.

Sam turned toward the window staring out at the passing landscape and Dean stared straight ahead as the road churned under the wheels of the Impala. The car ate up the miles between Missouri and Tennessee and the car crossed into Chattanooga City limits just after midnight. There was a Motel 6 on the exit ramp of the 75 Freeway and Dean turned into the parking lot, one more cheap motel, one more non-descript, bland room. The clerk barely glanced at the younger man as he ran the credit card through the reader and pushed a slip at Dean for a signature. He didn't even pick up the driver's license Dean casually dropped on the counter. Dean collected both the receipt and the i.d. before walking back to the car.

Sam tugged the key from Dean's fingers, turning it over to find the room number. The door swung open silently and Sam flicked on the lights. The carpet and furniture were clean, a dull beige with darker highlights. There were two beds along the far wall separated by a table with two matching lamps. Sam tossed his bag on a chair beside a small round table and Dean dropped his duffle on the floor beside the farthest bed. He toed his sneakers off, while Sam sat down in the second chair bending down to pull off his hiking boots.

Dinner was consumed at the table with the Channel Six News playing in the background. Dean ate two of the BBQ sandwiches they had gotten from Sweet Baby Rays, which were surprisingly delicious and a far cry from the microwaved fare of the AMPM variety they had been chowing down on for days now.

Suddenly Dean stiffened in his chair, turning quickly he motioned Sam to be quiet. A pretty middle-aged woman in a gray suit was standing on what looked like stairs to a courthouse somewhere. Sam cocked his head and Dean thumbed the volume up on the newscast.

The woman turned to stare directly into the camera, her face solemn and pale.

"For the third week in a row the sleepy little town of Adams has been rocked by tragedy."

The reporter turned glancing behind her at the stately, columned façade of the building.

"Last night, here on the steps of the Adams County Courthouse, two boys were found dead. Both boys played football at Adams High School. The dead boys have been identified as Charlie Parker and Jessie McAllen. This brings the total number of dead children to five. The first girl to die, in the Prospect Baptist Church Cemetery was identified as Crystal Ann Callahan, the daughter of Sheriff Roy Callahan. Just last week nineteen year old Jules Botner, the groundskeeper at the Cemetery was also found dead.

The following day a second body, that of an unidentified runaway was found on Braintree Highway. All five young people have died of unexplained causes."

Dean shot Sam a look and a slow smile crept across his face. "Still think there's no case, Sammy boy?


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Darkness Falling Pt 2

Author: Linda Atkinson

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Rough language, violence

Summary: I don't like the fact that John is dead. I know he is supposed to resurface, one way or another, but I want him alive again, with his boys again. So I'm fixing it, at least in my little corner of the universe.

Once again my thanks to Sioux-Sioux for betaing the story.

Sam flinched. He wondered if Dean was even aware of the fact that he was smiling.

"Since when did someone else's misery cause you so much happiness?"

Sam half rose from his seat and grabbed his brother by the shoulder. Dean shrugged him off.

"I'm not happy. I just want you to see that I know the business…"

"Damn it Dean, it's not a business. These are people's lives we're dealing with. These people have lost family, people they love!"

Dean erupted out of the chair. He grabbed Sam's arm, jerking him around.

"You don't think I know about losing people I love…"

"I loved him too, Dean."

"Yeah, well I didn't walk away when he needed me the most," Dean sneered.

Sam flinched and then pulled away from his brother. Jerking his head back he stormed to the wall. With a vicious look he turned on his brother.

"Well, at least he didn't give himself to save…"

Sam paused, his mouth snapping shut. He stood panting as if he had run five miles. He was sweating, the trickle of liquid down his spine almost maddeningly slow. Dean's face was chalk-white and Sam was sure that he was about to keel over.

Dean walked over to him. He grasped Sam's arm and the younger man flinched.

"I know that he made a choice to save me. I should have died. I'm just pissed off that he thought he had the right to make that choice for me."

Sam pulled his arm free rubbing the bruised muscle under his shirt.

"No, I shouldn't have said that. I just wanted to shut you up."

"Look Sam, Aunt Maggie will be honest with me."

"She won't tell you anything," Sam said with far more certainty than he felt.

Aunt Maggie was a tough old broad just as hard and callous as John Winchester had ever been. And like him, she had just cause. Her husband, the man they called Uncle Rick and their baby Christopher Michael had died just as Mary had died, only John had been able to save Sammy and Aunt Maggie couldn't save her boy. It had made her bitter and she and John had fallen out for awhile. But contrition and forgiveness are wonderful things and when John had needed her most of all Maggie had been there. She was as hard drinking and mean as John had been, but with a touch of Sight and a lot of power to go with it. Both Maggie and Missy, with their visions, had been instrumental in sending John and the boys on hunts for many years.

Aunt Maggie had been a hunter, like the Winchester boys as most people in the trade referred to them, including John as one of the boys, but a few years past a demon had done a real number on her and she was pretty badly broken up. Now she didn't hunt any more. She owned a "New Age" shop in Kingston. She read Tarot cards for tourists and people who didn't know and didn't want to know, that there were more things in heaven and Earth than their imaginations allowed. But she also raised herbs and found crystals for hunters to use in incantations. She blessed all the silver charms that she sold in the shop, too. There were a lot more people walking around under protection spells that fended off the things that went bump in the night than they realized.

Dean tapped his fingers nervously on the steering wheel feeling that Sam might just be right and Aunt Maggie might not tell him what he wanted, needed, to know. He frowned. In a way losing their father had been far harder for him. He could remember how it had been 'before', even if Sam didn't. The only man Sam had known as their father had been the hard case John had become. Sammy couldn't remember the warmth and love that had been their mother or the soft side of John that Dean had known. He alone had vague memories of Aunt Maggie and Uncle Rick 'before' as well. Sam couldn't remember the big, broad shouldered man with the lopsided grin and sandy brown hair who gave the best airplane rides in the country.

They had both grown up with the fading photos pressed between the plastic pages of the albums still residing in the bottom of John's duffle bag. Photos of four people, younger and smiling, as if they would be young and happy forever. Both Dean and Sam had poured over the pictures of two women, one blond and one slightly darker haired, in varying stages of pregnancy. The photos of two younger men arms wrapped around each others shoulders a little blonde boy cradled in John's lap, football game on the TV in the background. The pictures were all that Sam had of their mother, of the life before. He had grown up spending hours looking them over trying vainly to catch some feel for that time long ago. But the pictures meant something more than faded history to Dean. He remembered.

Sighing Dean ejected the tape from the deck and flicked the dial on the tuner. Static poured out of the speakers so he turned off the radio. He glanced over at Sam but his brother was absorbed in the passing landscape so Dean just stared out the windshield. And the wheels on the Impala kept eating up the miles to Kingston.

**Kingston, Tennessee.**

The Impala turned off Highway 75 just after three o'clock in the afternoon. Sam was driving while Dean slept in the passenger seat. Sam glanced down at the map he had printed off Map Quest earlier that day, following the pink highlighted directions into the downtown area of Kingston. The town had grown since the last time that he and Dean had been here. Over a year, almost two years, ago. John had been missing for two weeks and Aunt Maggie's was the first place they had come looking after going to Lawrence. But she hadn't seen him in almost a year. The last time he had come through he had been on his way to a little out of the way town in upstate New York; looking for a book he had found references too in the library, the Librium Arcana.

Main Street had gotten much larger but Sam could still pinpoint his Aunt's shop. The old red brick and white-washed façade stood out amid the newer cement walled structures. Sam found a parking place across the street and sat back. The shop seemed busy. He could see a number of people milling around inside through the large plate glass window. Above the door Sam read over the silver printed sign. _Lady of the Lake,_ it read and beside the neat letters was a sigil, one he recognized as a protection symbol.

Shaking Dean awake, Sam opened the car door and dodged traffic across the street. A pick-up truck blared its horn at him but Sam merely waved. Dean trotted up behind him and they stood back as two elderly ladies slipped out of the door bearing papers bags with the name of the shop on them.

Dean put his finger to his lips when Sam started to call out their aunt's name. Grinning he picked up a packet of herbs and dropped it down on the counter. Aunt Maggie turned around.

"Oh my god!" she said smiling. "Oh my… Dean, Sammy…"

She swept around the counter drawing both young men to her. Dean wrapped his arm around her shoulders leaning down to kiss one cheek, while Sam rested his head on the top of her head. Sam bumped Dean out of the way to claim a kiss of his own.

"Aunt Maggie."

He breathed into her hair. And Maggie closed her eyes. When they disentangled themselves she grasped their hands, one in each of her own hands. Quickly she looked down at Sam's cast.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Okay," he said simply and she nodded.

She didn't ask about John and for Dean that was more telling than anything she could have said. She knew John was dead and chances were she knew why he was dead, too.

Picking up the cane leaning against the counter Maggie limped toward the door. The last shoppers had gone and she flipped the sign over to 'closed'.

"Come on, you boys look like you could use a good meal."

Sam surveyed his aunt as she hustled around looking for her bag and jacket. Maggie was better than average height, but she had lost some of the lean hardness of youth, her curves softer and rounder than he remembered. She leaned on the dark wood cane more heavily than he recalled also. John had told them that Maggie had insight and power. He had often said she was a good person to go to if magic support was needed, although John tended to stick to the slash and hack method of dealing with demons and spirits. Of course, Sam supposed, their dad hadn't been much for subtlety.

Seated at the table in a restaurant across the street from the shop Dean fumbled with the menu finally giving in and ordering a burger. Sam sat stiffly across the table glaring at his brother. Dean cleared his throat.

"Um, Aunt Maggie, Sam and I wanted to tell you..."

"John is dead, I know."

She glanced at the window. Sam had thought she might cry, but she didn't. Somehow that made Sam feel even more bereft, as if years of hunting and killing things had burned all of the feelings out of her and that it might leave him that empty as well.

Dean smiled giving Sam a look behind Maggie's back. She turned around glancing between the two young men.

"There's work that you two need to do. Near here, a little place called Adams. I'm sure that you heard about it or else you wouldn't be here."

"That's not exactly true, Aunt Maggie," Sam began, but she held up a hand.

"I know you would have come by eventually, but you're busy. I know that there are things that John left unfinished and you mean to finish them. I've been at this a long time and that's the way it is. I want you to do this. She's killed five kids so far."

"She?" Dean asked leaning forward, dropping his voice down low.

Maggie nodded. She waited until the waiter had left their plates on the table before continuing.

"The Bell Witch, I'm sure that's what's out there. I found some information on her in the county records and a few newspaper articles. But some old time hunters were supposed to have put her down, so that means something raised her again."

"You think that someone raised her on purpose?" Sam asked digging into his food.

Maggie shrugged. They ate in silence a few minutes.

"I don't know. That's what you boys are going to have to find out. But I can tell you how to get rid of her. It's just up to you to do all the leg work. Why don't you boys follow me to the house, I'll fill you in on what I know and we can talk a little. I have some things for you too, if you want them."

Dean remembered the way to Maggie's house without having to follow her too closely. There was something about small southern towns that never seemed to change and this one was no exception. The streets grew quieter and the buildings more sparse by the time they had turned onto the gravel and dirt road that led to a simple single story house, with white paint and green storm shutters. The house was old, eighty years old and had been Uncle Rick's grandparent's home for many years. On quiet nights the old rocker beside the fireplace in the parlor rocked on its own. And the boys knew that it was the spirit of Uncle Ernie, Rick's elderly uncle, who had never moved on. He was quiet and never bothered anyone so Maggie had never had him put to rest. In fact she seemed very fond of the spirit and made sure that a comfortable blanket was always draped over the rocker for Uncle Ernie.

When Dean and Sam had been children they had asked their father why Maggie hunted other spirits and left Uncle Ernie in the house, until Sam had swallowed part of toy car and was choking in front of the fireplace beside the rocker. The rocker went crazy banging against the wooden floors and rattling the table. John had run in and managed to get the toy out of Sam's throat. He was fine and to this day everyone felt that Uncle Ernie had saved Sam's life.

After dinner they sat in the parlor looking over the newspaper clippings that Maggie had kept. She also gave Sam copies of old archival prints that detailed the story of the Battle of Adam's Meadow. Carefully Maggie unfolded a map of the town of Adams and the surrounding area. She pointed out places as they talked. Sam flipped through the text of the older copies making notes against the newspaper clippings while Maggie told them the story of the Bell Witch.

"The thing that I've heard is that some old-time hunters from 1870 put the witch down. I haven't been able to find out for sure if they actually killed her or they just trapped her somewhere so she couldn't get to kids."

Sam nodded, "These five deaths in Adam's Meadow near the old silver mines are identical to the deaths of the three Bell girls. And they are all identical to the deaths of these five teenagers. If the old hunters didn't kill the witch only trapped her something could have released her."

Dean nodded. "I'm thinking that one or more of these kids did something to set her free. Aunt Maggie you said that the first deaths occurred in Adam's Meadow. Where is that?"

"It's at the very end of Brickyard Road out past the Church and directly behind the high school."

Maggie ran her finger down the map, tracing along a pale yellow line she had drawn down the road. She pointed to a blue circle at the northern part of the meadow. She moved her finger to a green circle.

Sam glanced up.

"So all of these deaths have been in the near vicinity of the meadow?"

She paused then nodded.

"Here is Prospect Baptist Church Cemetery where the first girl was killed. This is the Courthouse where the two boys were found. The groundskeeper was found here, just on the other side of the cemetery, near the boundary with the high school and the drifter on this road here. All within a one mile radius of the meadow and the mine."

Dean nodded, "So tomorrow we drive over Adams."

Maggie rose from her chair and went to a bookshelf on the far wall. Picking up several jewel colored DVD cases she handed them to Dean.

"I found some old 9 mm movies that we made years ago some of them go all the way back to before you boys were born. You don't have to watch them I just thought that you might want them someday."

Dean turned the cases over in his hand swallowing hard.

"Thanks Aunt Maggie. Maybe later, okay?"

"Whatever you want, boys." Glancing at the clock she winced. "Well, I'm going to bed. I made up the spare room for you boys. You know where everything is."

Sam smiled, "Yeah, we'll find our way around."

Finally he stood up taking the DVDs from his brother. He moved to the TV and popped one of them into the player. There was some flickering numbers then the screen brightened eerily to pale summery sky. There was no sound and Sam frowned trying to get a frame of reference when the camera angel panned around closing in on three young people. The scene was some kind of a picnic, a crowd of people in odd looking clothes gathered around a lake in the background, the three in the front not looking any less odd. A girl, tall, willowy and blond also hugely pregnant, with two young men, one tall and broad-shouldered with limp sandy brown hair and blue eyes and the other tall, slender and dark haired with soft brown eyes.

Sam's breath caught in his chest and he gasped.

"That's Dad. Oh my god, I can't believe he ever looked that young and happy."

Dean stalked over slamming the button on the player jarring it and the images faded to black.

"Yeah, well maybe having a demon slaughter your wife and destroy every thing you have changes you."

"What's your problem, dude?"

"Look Sammy you want to take a trip down Memory Lane do it without me, okay? I don't need this…I knew who Dad was, what he was…What we are."

"Dad wasn't always a hunter, Dean, that wasn't who he used to be…" Sam grasped his brother by the front of his shirt, pulling him around to face the blank TV.

"It was what he was in the end and that was enough for me, him too."

Dean frowned, shoving Sam back, jerking his shirt free from his brother's grasp.

"We have to be out of here early tomorrow."

Adams wasn't much different than Kingston and once again Sam was struck by the timelessness of small towns. Lawrence hadn't really changed all that much since Sam and Dean had left it and the few times they had gone back. The town here seemed just as small and slow moving.

Their first stop was the courthouse. Sam ran the EMF meter and Dean lounged on the steps watching the few passersby ambling long the street. They didn't go inside the courthouse because the readings didn't warrant it. So they moved on to the school.

The school campus was closed to visitors and that left them with the cemetery. They walked the quiet paths and took readings. Sam picked up energy traces on the walkway beside the mausoleum and they found the spot where the first victim had died. But nothing really leapt out at them. Dean sighed leaning against a large tombstone.

"I think this is pretty much a bust. I'm betting that the place to look is that mine"

Sam shrugged, "Yeah, probably."

It took them half an hour to drive the single lane road to the meadow itself. Dean pulled the Impala off the road onto the soft shoulder and he and Sam leaned against the car's side surveying the countryside. Without a word Dean sat off across the meadow wading through the knee high grass.

When they reached the small footbridge Sam pointed to the cave entrance at the top of the hill. He and Dean struggled up the path and Dean bent down at the cave mouth looking at the tracks in the red clay.

"Somebody was here. Two people and I'm willing to bet it was one or more of those kids that were killed."

Sam followed his brother's gesture and bent over the tracks. From the size he decided that one of the two people who had been in the cave must have been the lone girl killed so far. He nodded at the tiny print half obliterated by the wind.

"Look how small the shoe is. That one was the girl that got killed. The sheriff's daughter."

Dean stood up brushing his hands over his pant leg then bent to look inside the cave mouth. Sam handed him a flashlight. Dean played the beam around the inside of the cave slipping inside. Sam had to bend over to get through the entrance but both young men had no problems getting into the cave itself.

Dean found more tracks and the trail was easy to follow. He traced the two sets of foot prints to the side room and came to a halt.

"Look at this Sammy."

Sam ran his hands over the broken boards then dropped down to look at the debris on the cave floor. Carefully he raked up a few scraps of the rough salt crystals on the dirt.

"Who ever boarded up this room salted the entrance too."

Dean pushed one of the boards back and the splintered wood snapped off.

"Whatever they put in here they wanted it to stay. The kids probably destroyed the salt lines and let her out. Let's take a look inside."

Clambering over the bent and broken boards Dean carefully stepped inside the small side room. Sam followed him careful not to dislodge any of the railroad ties. He scooted after his brother.

The floor inside the small room was covered in ash, as if someone had tried to burn something large. Scraps of old cloth and several civil war era guns were also strewn about. If anything had been in the room it was long gone. Sam lifted one of the loose boards and a cloth wrapped bundle dropped to the floor. Bending down he gathered it up. The cloth dropped away revealing a small leather-bound book. Quickly he turned to Dean.

"Look, the Librium Arcana, Aunt Maggie mentioning that Dad was looking for this book. I did some research on it last night. It supposed to be the European equivalent to the Egyptian Book of the Dead. I remember when we came to Aunt Maggie's the last time before…Dad was still talking about it."

Dean took the book from Sam's outstretched hand.

"We should ask Aunt Maggie to look at it once we get rid of the witch."

"I don't think she'd come back here. Too many memories of being trapped. Our best bet is somewhere in town but there's no real way to know where she'll go next," Sam said.

Dean tucked the book into his pocket.

"That's not true. When we were at the high school I saw a poster about some kind of auditions for a spring musical, in the gym at seven pm tonight. It's just a little after five now. I think we should go back to the school and stake it out. With that many kids in one place she's sure to show."

"It's a place to start anyway."

The John Adams High School gym was a cavernous building with highly waxed floors. Dean made his way through the outer lobby with it large plate glass window past the trophy cases, which held an amazing variety of silver and gold plated trophies bearing the names of various regional and state championships that the team had won. A flyer caught his attention and he leaned against the wall to make out the print in the dim lighting. Dean paused wishing that he had time to hang around; the Adams team was apparently very good, headed for SEC championship games the next week. Maybe he could talk Sammy into watching a couple of high school football games.

His Dad would have been more than agreeable; he and Dean shared a common love of football. And if the hunt was done and they had to hang around waiting to pick up another, John would have stayed, watched the games and ribbed Dean about losing any bets they made. Suddenly his heart seized in his chest and Dean winced. He whirled but it wasn't the Bell witch. It was just him, missing Dad too much again.

He pushed off the wall and pulled a flashlight out of his pocket sweeping the beam over the floor. It was clean, polished to a high gleam. He moved quietly across the lobby and into the main doors of the gym itself. The bleachers had been opened for the auditions although it was just half past five when Dean let himself into the back door of the central gym. The lights were low and without the benefit of windows the room was a murky at best.

Taking a deep breath Dean pushed the doors open and stepped inside the gym. His footsteps echoed hollowly in the huge room, nothing, not so much as a mote of dust stirred in the quiet still air. He ran his hand along the side of the bleachers looking over the mechanism that ran them out on metal tracks then slid them back against the wall when they weren't needed. Ducking he looked into the alley between the last rung of bleachers and the wall. There was a hallway that ran the entire length of the gym. It had a dark, almost cave-like feeling to it and would make a perfect hiding place especially since the 'Do Not Enter' signs and warning lights would discourage anyone from getting behind there and snooping around.

Ducking under the metal pulley and track that retracted the bleachers to the wall Dean flashed the beam of the flashlight under the bleachers themselves. Nothing but dust and garbage that the custodian had missed cleaning up after the last event. He was one third of the way down the wall when a hissing noise filled the air. The room grew colder around him and Dean paused fishing an EMF detector out of his pocket. He didn't really need it a few moments later when the yellow warning lights on the wall above the bleachers began flashing and the motors of the pulley system hummed into life. The first step of the bleachers began retracting into the higher ones and the entire thing began sliding back against the wall.

Turning Dean hurried toward the side of the bleachers he had entered but a dark figure sprang up blocking the path. He skidded to a halt as the second row of bleachers snapped shut. The witch reached into the alley, hands outstretched and Dean turned. His arm caught on the pulley and he jerked it free running for the far end of the bleachers. The witch followed him into the darkness.

He could hear her movements behind him; claws skittering over the wood and metal of the bleachers and surprisingly light footfalls clicking on the highly polished floors. He risked a backward glance and was immediately sorry, she was closer than he thought and for a moment he didn't think that he would make it to the end in time.

The third step of bleachers snapped closed and Dean had to turn sideways as the middle track of the pulley system ground around the flywheels in the center of the bleachers. He gasped as a siren began to sound. With a desperate grunt he surged forward. Clearing the flywheels he skittered under the center beam of the bleachers and pushed forward.

The fourth step of the bleachers snapped closed and the edge of the beam caught on his jacket jerking him to a halt. Quickly Dean snagged his jacket free and slid sideways along the wall of the gym toward the entrance on the far wall. The witch was no longer behind him and Dean was sure that she was waiting on the other side but he had no where else to go.

With one last burst of energy he swept past the pulleys and metal track just as the last step of the bleachers collapsed in onto themselves and burst out of the alley into the small space between the bleachers and the gym exit doors. The bleachers ground to a halt, just inches behind him and Dean bent over at the waist breath coming in harsh pants. Chest heaving he jerked upright at the sound of footsteps on the gym floor.

Whirling Dean tugged his .45 out of the waistband of his jeans and swung around. Sam stood hands held aloft waiting for his brother to register the fact that he had a gun pointed at him. With a growl Dean dropped the gun and motioned his younger brother forward.

"So," Sammy began, "I see that you found something."

"Actually she found me. She's here alright and she just tried to kill me."

Dean tucked the gun away then motioned to the bleachers.

"A few more inches and I would have been a large messy smear on the wall."

"Where do you suppose she went?" Sam said huffing out a breath. He glanced at the closed bleachers then waved Dean forward.

"Don't know, but it's too light outside for her to have gone far. She's still in here somewhere and we'd better get her before the kids start showing up for auditions."

"Let's start searching the lockers and equipment rooms. They're small and dark enough that she could get away without being seen." Sam sighed, "How are we going to get rid of her? I mean, her remains weren't in the cave so I'm going with re-animation on this one."

Dean grinned pulling a phosphorus flare out of his jeans pocket.

"Last time I checked witches still burn real good."

Pulling his .45 again they headed off to the opposite side of the gym and into the locker rooms located here. They passed a small side hall that lead to the coach's office and to a small private bathroom. Sam walked behind Dean almost back to back with him keeping an eye out behind them.

There was a noise like the brush of wings against a window pane and then suddenly out of nowhere the witch rose up. She swung at Sam sending him sprawling to the ground. With a grunt he rolled to his hands and knees scrabbling for purchase on the slick floors.

She hit him again in the small of his back driving Sam to the ground. The breath rushed out of his body and he rolled onto one side gasping for air.

With a smile the witch thrust her hand out striking him mid-chest too far away to actually reach his heart. He jerked upwards and away, bringing his legs up to kick at her. Her strong bony fingers dug into the muscles of his abdomen and Sam cried out.

"Get off him you bitch," Dean hissed slamming a baseball bat across her shoulders.

The witch's body lurched forward and she lost her grip on the younger Winchester. With a snarl she crept away eyes locked on Dean's face. He wavered, cringing in pain and Sam's hand twisted into the front of Dean's shirt tugging him half around breaking the link between the two.

She rose up into the air a few feet off the ground and Sam pulled the flare out of his brother's pocket. Dean staggered back a step giving Sam room to maneuver. Hauling himself to his feet Sam took a step forward and pulled the tab on the flare. Dean ducked his head and Sam covered his eyes with his other hand as he tossed the flare onto the witches' body. Her clothes were old and riddled with dry-rot and the material caught in seconds. Screaming, the witch writhed in agony. In a matter of minutes she was completely consumed in flames.

They didn't have time to pour salt onto the burning corpse before the fire alarm sounded. The sprinkles came one dousing her body but the phosphorus burned even more brightly in the water and both young men ran for the door knowing that the fire would likely go out long before the tile of the bathroom was ignited.

As Sam and Dean ran out into the gym itself a flash of light caught Dean's eye. A woman was standing beside the bathroom door. She was beautiful, pale skin glowing softly in the amber light of the fire. If it wasn't for her clothes, a plain dark colored dress that swept the floor he might have thought she was a teacher coming to check the gym. But she looked worn, tired and haggard in a way that seemed all too familiar.

She stood just far enough away that Dean understood she meant them no harm. Holding up a hand he motioned Sam to a halt. Uncertainly Dean walked toward her. She neither advanced nor retreated merely stood silent watching his approach.

Finally, when he was standing in front of her the witch spoke.

"I cannot ask for forgiveness. I am not worthy. I know what I have been, what I have done. I can only thank you for freeing me."

Dean hurried out of the building just as the fire trucks were pulling into the parking lot. One of the firefighters jumped down, pulling out equipment. A second man saw Sam and Dean coming out of the building and flagged them down.

"Was anyone else inside?"

Sam shook his head.

"Not where we were anyway. I don't know about the other locker rooms or equipment areas but this side is empty."

"We'll do a walk through anyway. Not too much smoke now. Looks like we got here early."

They dodged around the fire engine and ducked past the two sheriffs' patrol cars that pulled in behind them. Dean hurried past the cops before they could get a good look at his face although they seemed far more intent on the fire than the pedestrians. The Impala pulled out of the lot and Dean headed back to Maggie's house. He glanced at the book resting on Sam's lap.

"Do you think that there's something in there that can help Dad?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. We'll have Aunt Maggie read it. She's better at interpreting spells than we are. But if re-claiming his soul will do to Dad what it did to the witch I don't want to do it. Dad wouldn't want to live like that."

"It's got to be better than an eternity in hell, Sammy."

"No Dean, it's not. Look I don't want you to do something evil because you're feeling guilty…"

"Hey, aren't you always the one saying that I've got nothing to feel guilty about? Huh, that Dad made his choice? Well bullshit Sam…I feel guilty every minute of every day and I'm sick and tired of it. If I can get him out of hell, even if I have to put him down myself later, I'm going to do it."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Darkness Falling Pt 3

Author: Linda Atkinson

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Rough language, violence

Summary: I don't like the fact that John is dead. I know he is supposed to resurface, one way or another, but I want him alive again, with his boys again. So I'm fixing it, at least

in my little corner of the universe.

My thanks and grateful acknowledgement to Sioux_Sioux for beta on this story.

Maggie held up the book.

"Do you boys know what this is? It's the Librium Arcana, a book of black magic, the worst. John was looking for this for years. It contains some of the most evil spells that can be cast."

Sam frowned.

"If it was so evil why was Dad looking or it?"

"Because spells that can be cast, can be un-cast. All of these spells have spells that can be used to counter them, used to negate negative forces. And some of these spells are used by demons."

Dean slid onto the sofa besides her taking the book off Maggie's knee.

"I thought that demons were intrinsically magic."

"They are but even they need guidelines to make some magic work. We're all bound by laws of physics it's in our nature and in their's too. Demons act the way they act because they can't do anything else."

"So what does this have to do with Dad?"

Maggie smiled.

"I was reading some of the letters that were in the book. The witch wasn't always a witch. She and her son were hunters just like you boys and your Dad. But her son got hurt in a hunt, was dying. So she made a deal with the demon. She traded her soul for her son's life."

Dean gasped.

"Just like Dad."

"Yeah, just like John. Except when she died her son didn't send her out right. He didn't burn her body, he just buried her. Then he found the book. I wasn't sure about mentioning this to you boys but…There's a spell in the book for condemning an innocent soul to hell, and it can be used to reclaim a soul as well."

Sam sat up straighter tapping his hand against the book in Dean's palm.

"Re-claiming you mean releasing a soul from hell?"

"Yeah, but when her son worked the spell he forgot one thing. With a body to come back to she was re-animated, in the rotten corpse."

"And she went insane," Sam added. Maggie nodded.

"Wouldn't you? Your mind, all the memories of your life, forever stuck in the rotting shell of your former self. That's why she turned."

"So that could happen to Dad?" Dean asked, "Because I don't want to do that to him."

"No, it won't. You boys did right by your father. He has no shell to come back into. He'll be freed, but tied to this plane in a non-corporeal form."

"You mean a ghost," Sam said bitterly. Maggie nodded squeezing his arm gently.

"But he won't be in hell. And we can ask him if he wants to stay. All you boys need to do is get the ashes and bones left in his gravesite and bring them here. If he wants to go on we can salt and re-burn his remains, set him free."

Dean sat back.

"And you can do this spell. If we go to Chelsea and get Dad's remains you can work the spell?"

"Yes, I'll set it up while you're gone and have everything ready for when you get back."

Dean looked over at Sam who seemed very hesitant. He shook his head.

"Aunt Maggie what if something goes wrong? You know that some spells look benign but go really wrong after they're cast."

"Sam, I'll study it. I'll read through all of the papers and notes in the book. If there is just the slightest doubt that it won't work then I won't do it. As much as I loved your father, I don't want him to end up like her."

Dean dropped the book back into his aunt's hand.

"That settles it for me, Sammy. I'm leaving in the morning. You can come or not, but I'm going."

Sam nodded frowning,

"All right, I'll go with you. I just hope that the two of you know what you're doing."

The Impala turned the final bend of the long dirt and gravel road that lead to the cemetery where they had burned and buried their father. Dean turned the engine off but didn't move out of the car. From his side of the car Sam could see the small hill where the gravesite was, covered now in yellowing dead grass. The tiny tree that Dean had chosen as a marker was larger, but bare of foliage. The entire scene was just as raw and desperate as it had been six months ago.

Dropping his head into a hand Dean felt sick. He didn't want to go up that hill and see the stone with its borrowed name. But he heaved a sigh and pushed open the door. Sam stepped out of the car waiting for Dean to move around and join him. Suddenly he motioned Dean to a halt. They quickly opened the trunk to the car and pulled out two shovels and a small black bag. Dean slung the bag over his shoulder and handed one of the shovels to his brother.

From the other side of the hill came a sound. The noise of an engine, nothing as large as the Impala but powerful none the less. Bending down Sam and Dean slid past the car and into the cemetery itself. They kept to the shadows hugging the larger tombstones and keeping low to the ground as much as possible. When they got over the hill they both could see two men, dressed in leather and jeans poised above motorcycles sitting silently at the foot of the slope just at the bottom of the path to John's grave.

Dean ducked back out of sight as he watched the two figures straddling the bikes and talking low. The taller man pulled out a cigarette and blew smoke into the air as they glanced around. Both Sam and Dean got the distinct impression that the men were waiting for something, looking for someone. And that it meant the bikers were most likely looking for them. Sam pulled John's journal out and began sketching the logo embroidered on the back of the larger man's jacket. When the other man turned around he could see that the logo was the same on his jacket as well. He couldn't make out as many details as he wanted but he got the general picture.

It was almost dusk when the bikers finally decided that nothing was going to happen and revved up their motorcycles and pulled out of the cemetery. Sam stood up slightly watching as the men disappeared out the wrought iron gates and down the road.

Dean stood up brushing the grass off the seat of his jeans.

"So why do you think that two bikers are keeping guard at Dad's grave? Do you think they're hunters?"

Shaking his head Sam slipped quietly down the hill with Dean in tow. They reached the gravesite just as the sun was dipping behind the horizon. Dropping the bag Dean took a shotgun loaded with rock salt and propped it against the headstone. He sat his .45 on top of the marker and picked up a shovel.

They took turns digging. By the time the sun had set completely and the moon had risen they had the grave opened, carefully piling the dirt and sod to one side to be replaced later. They had to go slowly at the end because they didn't want to churn the ashes up in the soil and lose any bone fragments that might remain.

Sam was in the grave when he hit blackened soil He stood up.

"Dean, I'm down to ash."

Nodding Dean jumped into the grave; carefully he bent down scraping at the layer of ash. He pulled a small box off the side of the grave and handed it to Sam. Using a small garden spade he sifted through the ash until he found small pieces of bone. Lifting them up he deposited them into the box and then scraped up as much ash as he could, adding it to the container. Sam carefully closed the box, sitting it outside the grave. Picking up the shovels they filled in the grave.

The wind had picked up and it was cold when Dean opened the trunk of the Impala and put the box and shovels inside. Dean was just tucking the shot gun into the trunk when the breeze whipped trough the trees carrying the sound of heavy footsteps. Sam whirled.

Grabbing Dean's wrist he jerked his chin in the direction of the trees down the hill from where they were parked.

"Dean, something's up there. I saw a movement. Do you suppose those bikers are back?"

"I don't know. It could be anything."

Dean handed Sam the shotgun and a box of shells. Quickly he checked the clip in his .45 opting for silver bullets. Tucking a flask of holy water into his pocket he handed Sam a rosary. Sam wrapped the beads around his wrist and took a canister of salt and put it in his pocket.

The wind had settled and the trees were still. From their vantage point at the top of the hill both young men could see across the flatter part of the cemetery and to the road beyond the hillside. The cloudless sky held a full moon riding low over the horizon, big and shimmering yellow. The pale light cast faint shadows behind the dark gray of the headstones.

Sam crept down the hill until he was back at their father's grave. Dean was to the left of Sam further downhill and slightly ahead. Sam glanced down at the newly turned earth, the grave dark and ugly in the moonlight. He caught a flash of movement in the trees just further down the hill running parallel to the road. Without a sound he motioned Dean back.

The older man quickly hurried up the hillside flanking his brother. The two skirted around the grave and headed down the hill at a lope. From the underbrush the sound of movement grew louder then an eerie howl cut through the air. Dean slid to a halt, pulling Sam up close.

"Werewolves," he hissed.

Sam nodded, leaning away from Dean and scanning the underbrush.

"It sounds like it's coming from the other side of the road. Probably two of them. I'm willing to bet it's the two bikers from earlier."

Dean nodded but cast a sideways glance at his brother.

"Why would werewolves be staking out Dad's grave?"

"I don't know but I though that I recognized the logo on their jackets."

Dean shook his head. He ran from the tombstone to the underbrush beneath the trees lining the road. Sam followed hard behind him. Pulling the .45 Dean raked his hand forward and Sam took point holding the shotgun aloft.

Without a sound the underbrush parted and the first werewolf leapt into the road. He was big even for a werewolf and he snarled, dropping back from Sam and Dean, claws skittering on the asphalt. Sam raised the shotgun and fired. The rock salt hit the werewolf dead center of his chest and he yelped.

Dean flicked his gaze to the brush to the side and behind them. He turned his body at an angle to his brother and raised the gun. When the second werewolf burst out of the brush he was ready. With a smile Dean pulled the trigger. The bullet hit its mark striking the werewolf in his heart as he leapt toward them. Blood erupted from the beast's chest, splattering the tombstones and dropping on the parched earth like rain.

The creature's body skidded over the rough grass coming to rest just a few feet from Dean's position. Sam never let his gaze wander from the other werewolf pacing a few yards from where they stood. The creature paused sniffing the air as the bloody corpse of the other werewolf rippled and roiled under the moonlight. Sensing, if not fully understanding, that his companion was dead the first werewolf started visibly. Raising his muzzle he snarled then turned loping toward the trees.

Dean muttered a curse and charged after him. Sam ran along behind keeping this brother's back in sight. They hit the trees just a few seconds after the werewolf disappeared into the dense underbrush.

Bending down Dean motioned to the tracks in the soft dirt. The werewolf was moving in a straight line heading toward the deeper forest, and Dean wanted to catch him before he could get away. He motioned Sam down a path that branched downward from where they were walking. Sam slid along the path but the tracks disappeared and he glanced up at the higher trial that Dean was moving purposefully along.

There was more than enough light and Dean could easily track the werewolf. The prints were large and deep and still moving in a straight line. He paused glancing down, making sure that he could still see Sammy on the path below. Suddenly the upper trial ended and the paths converged together and Dean found himself shoulder to shoulder with his younger bother.

The brush moving crazily behind them was the only warning they got as the werewolf bolted out of cover bearing down on the two young men. Sam whirled bringing the shotgun up but before he could get a clean shot the werewolf hit the ground at his feet. Jerking back Sam dropped to the ground rolling out of the way. The gun jumped in Dean's hand as the.45 went off. With a gasp the werewolf staggered then collapsed on his side breath coming in weak gasps.

Dean walked over raising the gun again and firing. The werewolf's body jumped then settled back on the ground. It only took a few minutes for the creature to transform into it human shape, and both Sam and Dean could see that it was one of the bikers that had been at the cemetery when they arrived.

They ended up dragging the werewolf back to the cemetery. Piling both bodies on the raw earth just behind the tree line Seam salted the two bodies while Dean soaked them down with gas. When he was sure that both bodies were covered Dean pulled matches out of his pocket. The bodies burned quickly.

The Impala's engine roared to life, and Dean pulled out of the cemetery without glancing back. He flicked on the radio messing with the tuner just to have something to do before looking in the rearview mirror.

"So why do you think that werewolves are watching Dad's grave. Do you think that the demon has them there?"

Sam shook his head sighing.

"I don't know Dean, but they're there for a reason. Maybe we can research the logo on the jackets and see if we can identify them."

"Yeah, let's get back to Aunt Maggie's place."

Sam shifted uncomfortably.

"Dean, I'm not sure if we're doing the right thing."

"Sam, I don't want to hear it. I've decided if we can get Dad out of hell. If we can make this at least a little bit right then I'm doing it."

"Well, what about me Dean? He was my father too. What if I don't want to take a chance that Aunt Maggie can do this?"

"Oh for god's sake Sammy! You always have to argue about everything. I got so damn sick and tired of hearing you question Dad, now you're doing it with Aunt Maggie? Dad, and Aunt Maggie have been doing this a lot longer than we have, sometimes you just have to believe that they know what they are doing. Dad did, just give it a rest, Sammy."

"All right Dean, but if this goes bad, you're going to have to live with it."

"I already do, Sam. If it goes bad I'll handle it…"

"Just like if it goes bad with me you'll handle it?" Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked at him then stared out the windshield.

"Yeah, Sammy it's what I do."

Maggie was waiting at the door when the Impala pulled into the driveway. She had a worn, drawn look on her face that worried Sam. Quickly she stepped outside watching as Dean opened the trunk and pulled a small box out. He carried the box into the house and Maggie waved him to the garage.

She had pulled all of the boxes she had stored in the garage back against the wall, and painted a huge red circle on the floor. Symbols were painted around the circumference of the circle in black paint. In the center of the circle was a large sigil also painted in black paint. The sigil itself had a large central circle with four circles at the compass points. A thick black candle sat on each one of the small compass points, and in the central circle was a wax ball about the size of a large pumpkin.

Carefully Maggie carried the box to the center of the circle. Lifting the top off the wax ball she poured out the ash and bones from the box. To this she added a mass of dark brown hair that was sitting on the floor. "This is hair from a hairbrush that your father left here. So in the ball we have hair, bone and ash."

She lit the candles then picked up the book and a packet of powdered herbs. Sam and Dean stood at the door of the garage watching as Maggie walked the circumference of the circle sprinkling the herbs over the floor. Once she had them evenly distributed she lit the candles.

"Hail, Angel of the North, Power of Earth! I invoke you and call you, North Star,  
Stone, Mountain and Fertile Field Come! Send forth your strength Be here now! The circle is cast. We are between the worlds, Beyond the bounds of time! Lord and Lady, abide here now. Lend Your power to the circle, That what be cast is done as asked,  
And harm shall come to none! Into this vessel we place the earthly remains of one of our own, we open the gate to hell, release the soul that this clay did once inhabit…"

There was a rush of wind throughout the room, the candles guttered and faded. Suddenly a pale spark of light filled the wax ball. Maggie stepped forward but before she could open the top of the vessel, the wax began to warp and twist.

Dean leapt forward pulling his aunt away from the wax, out of the circle.

"Aunt Maggie what's happening?"

"His soul should be in that vessel. All we have to do is open the top and the soul should manifest itself as a non-corporeal being." She shivered. "It isn't supposed to do this."

Sam looked at the wax ball which was writhing and growing larger. A scowl crossed his face. "Look, the wax is taking on a form."

As they stood watching, the wax grew longer spreading itself into a shape, head arms and legs forming and growing. Within minutes the wax had formed itself into the shape of a human being, the long naked limbs smooth and supple becoming solid flesh.

Taking a deep breath Maggie walked to the naked figure lying prone on the floor. He was tall, slender with a stock of thick brown curls. The form trembled and half raised himself up off the floor. Dean pulled the .45 out of his waistband holding it up as Maggie stooped down. She tugged the man over then jumped back gasping.

Before Sam could move gunshots ran out.

"Dean!" Sam screamed grabbing at the gun. "Oh god Dean you shot Dad."

Maggie tugged his arm trembling violently. "Sammy, no it's not John."

Turning quickly Sam bent down examining the prone body. The overall shape was that of a man, long slender legs covered in soft brown hair, long arms. But beneath the ragged curling hair the face was smooth and void, no features. He cringed away.

"It's a shape-shifter…" Dean hissed. "I've never seen one in its true form."

Maggie nodded. "They have no face of their own, only taking on one form or another from their victims. Are you sure you got the right remains."

Dean growled at her. "Aunt Maggie I know where I buried my own father. It was the right grave. It's where we burned and buried Dad."

Shaking her head she motioned to the still body on the floor.

"No, it's not. Whatever you burned in that grave wasn't your father. It was this thing. The reason the spell didn't work is that your father wasn't in that grave."

Sam bolted from his place at the door.

"That can't be Aunt Maggie. I found Dad's body on the floor. He was already cold. We watched them trying to revive him but they couldn't. Dean and I took his body from the morgue."

"Then that's it. How long was it before you and Dean last spoke to John that you found his body in the hospital room?"

"I don't know," Sam said, but Dean touched his shoulder.

"It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes, maybe twenty."

"But Sam said he was already cold. A body doesn't cool that fast. If John had only been dead fifteen or twenty minutes he would have still been warm to the touch. Whatever you found in that hospital room, whatever you took from the morgue and burned it wasn't your father…it was this thing."

Dean looked down at the shape-shifter's body.

"Then where the hell is Dad?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Darkness Falling Pt 4

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Violence, strong language

Sam hurried back into the house, digging wildly through the duffle bag he carried. When he had John's journal he ran back to the garage. Quickly Sam slapped the journal down on the shelf motioning Dean and Maggie over. He tapped a finger against the sketch of the logo on the werewolves' jackets.

"See this mark; it was sewn onto the jackets that the bikers were wearing."

Maggie glanced down at the book.

"Bikers?"

Dean nodded,

"Yeah, when we got to the cemetery in Chelsea there were two bikers staking out Dad's grave. Sam and I got the impression that they might have been looking for us. They were wearing jackets with this logo on them."

Maggie nodded then turned back to the body lying on the cement floor of the garage.

"Look, the shape-shifter has a tattoo on his back. It's the same mark. The bikers used their logo as a summoning and binding mark to keep the shifter in line, to make it do what they wanted it to do."

"Like take Dad's place at the hospital?" Sam asked.

Maggie glanced up at him from under her bangs. She shrugged, but Dean stooped down settling on his heels, looking in her face.

"Maggie please, if you think that the shape-shifter could have taken Dad's place, after he made his deal you've got to tell me."

Sam flinched, "Dean why would the demon do that?"

Maggie took a deep breath.

"Just a thought of mine, but if John traded his soul for Dean's life, the demon might not have been able to collect. It was an act of sacrifice in the cause of good, if the demon stripped John's soul from his body he'd go up not down. The demon might have walked into a trap that John set for it. Dean gets to live and the demon can't collect…"

Sam nodded, "That would be just like Dad. He always had a plan for everything."

"So what?" Dean said, "The demon couldn't take Dad's soul so he had the shape-shifter take Dad's place so we'd think he was dead?"

"Yeah, that way you wouldn't go looking for him, and then the demon could have John taken somewhere, torture him a while try to break John down so he'd cut another deal to end the pain."

"And the bikers, the werewolves, they have Dad somewhere?" Dean asked.

Maggie shrugged again.

"Do you think they'd have turned him?" Sam asked quietly.

Maggie shook he head. But Dean interrupted her before she could answer.

"No, the demon wouldn't let them turn him. He'd be less of a trophy if he was a werewolf, damaged goods. They couldn't do anything too drastic. They couldn't do any major damage either, because he might die without cutting a deal. But they'd make him suffer," he said.

Maggie nodded,

"Yeah, that's what I think. The werewolves could have John in their den; they've had six months to work on him. I think that the demon would have had them work him over, keep him in pain and try to break him so that he would trade his soul to get the demon just to end it."

Dean grimaced.

"They'd have a hell of time getting Dad to break. He wouldn't do it."

"He might if they brought in other shifters that looked like you boys, hurt them enough and he'd cave," Maggie said, "After all, look at what the demon did to you boys, making you think that John was dead, and, God forbid, he might be dead now. All I know for sure is that the body you got from the morgue and burned was not your father."

"So how do we go about finding out where they have Dad?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed, "First things first, we salt and burn this shifter. Then we research this as quickly as we can."

"We'll call around, go through every contact in your Dad's journal and mine. I'm willing to bet that Bobby Singer will know something about the symbol. He primarily deals with demons, but he knows a hell of a lot about werewolves, too."

Sam pulled his cell phone out of his pocket.

"I'm going to take a picture of the mark on the shifter's back. We'll send that to Bobby and see if he knows anything about the bikers, werewolves, what ever…"

Dean nodded,

"That's a good idea. If he can identify the gang then we can find out where they tend to hole up. See if we can find Dad there."

Maggie touched his arm.

"Look if you boys go after John I want to go with you."

"Aunt Maggie," Dean said quietly, "You can't hunt not on your bum leg."

"It's not that bad. I'm either going with you or I'm going to follow you, take your pick."

Sam smiled, "Let's just take care of one thing at a time. I'm going to download this picture to my laptop and e-mail Bobby."

"Aunt Maggie and I'll take care of the shifter."

Dinner had been consumed on the porch without much fanfare and in silence. It was just after sundown when Sam's cell phone rang. Dean and Maggie stared at him when he answered.

"Sure Bobby, okay…that's great. I'll tell the others. Dean and I will get over there as quick as possible, and we're bringing someone. I don't know if you remember Aunt Maggie. I'll tell 'em."

Maggie sat her coffee cup on the table.

"So did he find them?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, "It's a biker gang. They're pretty well known in Chelsea and the area around Lawrence. Get this… they call themselves the Wolf Pack. Take about originality."

Dean grinned, the first true smile Sam had seen on his brother's face since the hospital.

"Hey, they're werewolves not brain surgeons."

"He's going to stake out the area that they tend to hunt in, and see if he can come up with a place that they might have a prisoner. It'd have to be somewhere out of sight so they could work on him without being interrupted."

"That's it then," Dean said slapping his hand down on the table, "We're leaving in the morning."

They took turns driving and made it to Kansas with only a few short stops along the way. By the time that they rolled into Bobby's place they were worn thin, snapping at each other and barely holding on. Bobby met them at the door. When they were settled with cups of strong coffee Bobby slapped a map on the table and motioned to the cemetery.

"This is where you boys buried John, maybe. I spent yesterday staking out the place and sure enough two bikers showed up at the grave. I'd say those boys were tying to keep you two away from the place. I followed them and they have an old shack in the forest not more than a mile from the gravesite. There's a lot of activity in the place for it to be so out of the way. There are two guards on the front door all the time that I could see. I can't say how many more are inside. But I heard noises too, screaming. So something's going on in there, and they don't want folks to know about it."

Dean half rose out of his seat.

"Then let's get over there."

"Now hold on, boy. We're not going over there half-cocked. I did manage to get us a little fire power, and some silver ammo to go with it. But we got to have a plan. Nobody gets hurt on our side."

"As long as we take out as many of the bastards as we can. I'm all for any plan you come up with," Dean said with a smirk.

Sam flinched he had come to hate that expression in the past six months. He held up a hand motioning his brother back into the chair.

"Just slow down, Dean. We'll get there."

Nodding Bobby said, "Well, the lunar cycle is with us. We won't have to worry about them turning. But we'll have to put them down, human or not. Show no mercy 'cause these boys'll come after us and John too, if he's still alive."

"Aunt Maggie, no offense, but you just can't keep up with us on this one. Won't you reconsider coming?" Sam asked.

Maggie frowned but Bobby interrupted.

"She can stay with the car. In any extraction you leave someone to watch the vehicles. Maggie can stay with the car and keep the engine running if we need to leave in a hurry."

She nodded.

"I'll do that."

"All right, I got something for all of us," Bobby said smiling. Reaching behind the table he slapped an M-16 on the surface. "There's one of each of us."

Maggie took the gun from Bobby with a grimace. She held it aloft checking the action. With a sigh she let it drop.

"Cheap ass American made guns. These things over-heat and jam. John would have gotten us Uzis."

Bobby winced.

"Hey don't bitch at me, woman. I did the best I could on short notice."

Sam frowned at his aunt.

"Come on, Aunt Maggie give him a break."

She flinched blushing and then turned to Bobby.

"I'm sorry. When I get nervous I shoot my mouth off."

Dean waited until Bobby and Sam had moved away before grasping his aunt's shoulder gently in one hand. He smiled at her.

"Dad would have gotten us Uzis," he whispered.

They parked the Impala just down the road from a dilapidated little shack that was no more than two rooms. From his vantage point on the peak of a small hill Dean could see two men sitting on the porch of the building, smoking and talking. They sat, feet hanging off the steps with beer bottles by their side and guns settled across their laps.

That didn't mean that there wasn't someone inside, but they'd have to take that chance. Bobby and Sam had done a slow circuit around the place to locate all the entrances and exits and come back with the information that there was only one door, the one they were looking at. The one guarded by the two bikers. The room at the rear of the house was boarded up tight, no one in or out.

Maggie stood beside the driver's side door, gun propped against her hip, watching as the three men moved silently down the path toward the house. She glanced inside the car looking at the keys hanging in the ignition and cocked her head listening for any sound that anyone was approaching from the road outside.

Bobby waved Dean around to take point. Sam veered off the path and headed around to the left side of the porch and Bobby moved right. The two men on the porch made no overt movements, but Dean knew that werewolves had extraordinarily good hearing, and were probably already aware that they were coming.

Glancing to the right Dean pulled the gun up and raised a hand. He fired one short burst toward the house, hitting one of the men driving his body back and against the wall. The second biker lurched to his feet as Bobby rose up. The clatter of automatic gun fire filled the air. The biker managed to duck and roll across the porch struggling to his knees and drawing his own gun. Before he could fire Sam stood up pulling the trigger. The hail of silver bullets cut the biker in half at the waist. His head and shoulders dropped to one side and his lower torso slid down the stairs.

Dean kicked the biker's body off the stairs as Sam jumped onto the porch from the side. Bobby waited back turned to the building scanning the horizon for some sign of movement. He didn't see the third man step around the side of the house, gun raised.

"Bobby!" Sam shouted.

The big man whirled as Dean drew a bead on the biker and squeezed the trigger. A short burst of gunfire rattled the air, and the biker was flung against the wall sliding down to the ground, awash in his own blood.

"Thanks, boys," Bobby said with a grin.

Dean shrugged.

"No problem, man."

The sound of gunfire from the direction of the house caught Maggie's attention. She gripped the butt of the M-16 tighter wanting desperately to go to the aid of the others. But truthfully she knew that her leg wouldn't hold if they were in a close up firefight and needed to move quickly.

Suddenly she turned; a motorcycle was coming down the road. She cocked the gun and felt it jam.

"Shit," she hissed.

Quickly Maggie dropped the gun into the back seat of the car pulling out her cane. The bike rounded the curve of the road and pulled to a halt. The biker glared at her letting the engine on the Harley idle.

"You should have stayed out of this, bitch."

Grinning he cut the engine and stepped off the bike. Maggie held her ground only moving a little ways away from the car, giving herself room to work. The man licked his lips.

"For an old broad you ain't bad, maybe you'll be more fun than _he_ was. You're gonna scream like he did though…"

"On a cold day in hell," Maggie said grinning back.

He leaned back pulling a switch-blade out of one pocket.

"I'm going to cut you in a hundred pieces, listen to every little whimper you make and then I'm going kill you."

Maggie stepped forward pressing a button on the side of the cane. A foot of silver-plated stainless steel leapt out. She lunged forward, and the biker coughed looking down at the blade sticking in his belly. With a vicious grin Maggie jerked the cane up, stepping back as his guts spilled out on the ground.

She stood over his body, as the light faded from his eyes she said, "One thing you should learn, honey, is if you're going to kill somebody… you kill them. You don't stand there talking about it."

The windows on the back room of the house were boarded over on the outside, and situated in the shadows as it was, the interior was dark. Bobby led the way down the hall to the rear of the house and the open doorway blanketed in darkness. There was movement within the room, something stirring, slowly, trying to be quiet.

Dean looked past Bobby's shoulder but the big man pushed him back. His face pale Bobby motioned Sam over.

"Look, I want you to understand that if John is in there he might not be firing on all cylinders, okay. He's been captive for six months, held by a pack of werewolves under the control of a demon. And they used shifters too. Anything that has happened to your daddy…Well, they could make it look like it was anyone of us--you, me or Sammy, maybe all three of us. I know John could take a beating, but not the head games. He's never been anything but a straight shooter, and all that psychobabble crap would hit him hard."

Dean nodded, but Bobby held his place in the door, keeping both younger men at bay a bit longer.

"Listen to me. We've got to be real careful here so that we don't hurt him and he don't hurt any of us."

Sam frowned, "Dad would never hurt us."

"Not before, but like I said he's been, maybe not literally, but figuratively in hell. How do you think he'd react to being cut, burned, tortured… hell maybe even raped by you or Dean?"

Dean pushed at the older man's arm.

"Dad's tough, he'd hold up. He'd never break."

"Goddammit, any man, every man can break. It's just a matter of what it takes. In the service they tell you that you may be a POW and they try to teach you how to deal with torture but it's not a matter of _if_ you break it's _when_ you break and how you look at yourself in the mirror afterwards. Just go slow, take it easy on him and don't get in his face if he doesn't react to you well at first."

Suddenly Dean tugged Bobby's arm.

"Get Maggie in here. The demon might have a handle on me and Sam, maybe even you Bobby, but he wouldn't know about Maggie. At least not enough to use her effectively."

"That's a good idea. I'll go get her," Sam said quietly.

He ran back down the hall and disappeared out the door. In a few minutes he reappeared with Maggie in tow, carrying a blanket.

"What are you going to do, Bobby?" she asked.

Bobby fished a hypodermic needle out of his pocket and held it aloft.

"I'm going to whack him out with Thorizine. Then we'll get him back to my place and see what we need to do for him."

If Dean had thought he was ready for what his Dad would look like he was wrong. His stomach lurched and for a minute he thought he was going to vomit. Sammy was chalk-white and shaking like a leaf beside him. Bobby slid into the room hanging back until Maggie could move past them toward the figure on the ground in the far corner of the room.

He was huddled, naked, on the bare cement floor; body covered in dirt and caked blood. And he reeked. His head was down so Dean couldn't get a good look at his face, but the body shape was right, familiar, although not nearly as healthy and strong as his Dad had been. This poor broken creature was half starved; ribs showing plainly through filth crusted skin. His side was a mottled with bruises and caked with blood from too many cuts lacing his chest and shoulders. One arm was bent at an improbably angle, broken and mended badly, almost useless. Long hair, dirty and matted, hung in his eyes, and when he lifted his head the dark hatred in his eyes made Dean flinch.

"Dad?" he whispered.

But the figure cringed away from the sound. "I know you're not real, _he_ killed you. I saw _him _kill you…get the hell away from me."

Bobby motioned him back.

"Maggie talk to him. Try to get close enough to get the blanket on him."

Bobby stepped back and she moved forward.

"John, it's me, Maggie. You remember me don't you John? We came to get you. I've a got a blanket here for you. I know you're real shy about being naked in public. That one time in Cancun taught us all a lesson."

She smiled holding the blanket up in her hands and walking slowly forward.

John cocked his head.

"They never did you before. He must be getting desperate."

His voice was hoarse, broken by fits of coughing, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.

"They even got the limp right."

"They didn't get anything right, Johnny. It's me.., you know Maggie Mae. You used to sing that song to me; Mary would just laugh and laugh."

"Shut the hell up, don't talk about her," John hissed.

Maggie paused then scooted a little closer spreading the blanket out.

She managed to maneuver close enough to drape the blanket over his feet. Suddenly John lunged hands closing on Maggie's arm jerking her off her feet. They fell back against the wall with John's hands closing around her throat. Bobby leapt forward, bringing the needle up and jabbing it into John's flank before he could move.

With a gasp Maggie crawled away watching as John collapsed against the wall, eyes closing. Dean hurried forward helping Bobby wrap his father in a blanket. Sam got his arm under Maggie's shoulder and pulled her to her feet.

"Are you okay, Aunt Maggie?"

"Yeah, he just surprised me. Even now he's strong as hell."

Bobby and Dean lifted John's still body, carrying him back to the car. Sam got behind the wheel and Maggie climbed into the front seat. Bobby and Dean sat in the back with John cradled across their laps.

Sam was pacing the front room as Dean and Bobby sat around the dining room table. The doctor had been in with John for almost an hour. Maggie was helping him. Finally, the elderly man appeared at the bedroom door beckoning the others in.

Dean loped across the room, and walked in the door. Sam followed close behind. Doctor Beaumont stepped aside and let them both in. The doctor, or most likely, Maggie, had bathed and shaved John and washed his hair. He looked more like his normal self except for the cuts and bruises.

But considering the number of times he had been thrown against a wall, cuts and bruises looked pretty normal on their father, too. He was dressed in a white hospital gown and covered in blankets. An i.v. pole stood beside the bed with several plastic bags dangling down.

"I've told your aunt how to clamp off the i.v. line to change out the bags. I have him on fluid and antibiotics I've also left morphine for the pain. Considering the injuries he's sustained I'm surprised he' still alive. I've had to re-break his arm, and put it in a cast so it should heal straight, but I fear that he'll have limited mobility in his left hand.

He's severely dehydrated and malnourished so I want as much fluid as you can get into him. But keep him on liquids until the i.v antibiotics are done. I'll check on him everyday. It won't be easy; he has a long hard road to recovery ahead. But if he survived this far I have high hopes for him."

Dean settled down in a chair beside the bed taking his father's hand, but careful of the i.v. shunt in his arm.

"Has he said anything?"

The doctor shook his head.

"I need for you boys to understand that he may not be mentally stable at first. I treated soldiers from Vietnam and Iraq who didn't have the kind of injuries that your father had…"

Bobby looked up.

"That's because the guys that inflicted them were still human. What got a hold of John…"

"I understand. Just be prepared, I'm not sure he's even sane."

Dean jerked as John's fingers twitched beneath his. Sam dropped down onto the side of the bed, and John slowly opened his eyes.

"Dean?" his voice was harsh, rasping and the most beautiful thing that Dean had ever heard.

"Dad," Dean bent forward trying not to move too quickly and still keep in John's line of sight.

"I knew you'd come Dean. You've never let me down."

"I'm here Dad. Aunt Maggie and Bobby are here too."

Bobby stood up, a prayer book in his hands. Dean glanced down at it and frowned. He could clearly make out the Rite of Exorcism on the pages.

"Bobby, do you think that's necessary?"

"Not anymore, I've already read it over three times. If he was possessed we'd have seen it by now. You boys told me you'd been surprised before, I just didn't want to take a chance."

John smiled a little nodding.

"You always were a suspicious bastard, Bobby."

"Well, it saved your ass on more than one occasion. How you doing, John-boy?"

Bobby said smiling using his old nick-name for John, one that the other man had always hated and that the demon would have had a hard time picking up on. John nodded gratefully, understanding.

Sam hung back in the doorway, frowning. In all the time that his father had been awake he had not asked about Sam or made any effort to look for him. He finally got up the nerve to walk further into the room and move to the side of John's bed.

Taking a deep breath Sam settled his hand on John's arm. His father moved as much as he was able then recoiled in horror. "Oh god, no…"

Sam jumped back as if he had been doused in scalding water. Shaking he stumbled to the door while Dean calmed John. Their father clutched at Dean's hand trembling visibly.

"Keep him away from me…" he hissed grabbing at the younger man's arm. Dean shook his father off gently.

"Dad, its Sammy. It's okay."

"God no, Dean. Get away from him, get away." John struggled to rise, but the doctor hurried forward catching John by the arm and pressing him back.

"John you need to calm down." He turned to the i.v. line making sure that John hadn't ripped anything loose. Then he quickly rummaged through his bag and injected a clear liquid into the line. "I've given him a little Valium, to calm him down."

John subsided back against the bed, not asleep but quiet. With a stricken look on his face Sam stumbled out of the room. Dean followed after, tugging his brother around. Tears streamed down Sam's face.

"I don't understand, Dean. Why didn't he act like that for anyone else? Why me?"

"Maybe the demon made him think you were dead? And it startled him when he saw you were still alive."

Sam hugged his arms around himself shivering.

"Maybe he's picking up on the fact that I'm going to turn. I might be closer to going over than we think."

They stood quietly as Bobby and the doctor walked past. Dr. Beaumont turned to the two younger men.

"He'll take awhile. I suspect this will be tough to deal with, but remember he's been subjected to all kinds of psychological warfare. Just give him time."

Bobby smiled,

"Thanks Harry. I really appreciate this. I know John and the boys do too."

The doctor smiled,

"You need to let him rest. I'll come by first thing in the morning, Bobby. I'll let myself out."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Darkness Falling Pt 5

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Gen

Warnings: Violence, strong language

_The room was cold, the cement beneath his bare skin damp with condensation from the air leaking between the boards on the windows. John had almost become used to the constant cold, never enough to put him out of his misery, just a constant, bone numbing chill. He was coughing more now and John thought he might have pneumonia. Maybe he'd die of that. It'd serve the bastard right. _

_The slick dampness under his buttocks made him wince again. Careful of the cracked ribs John shifted; a bolt of pain shot across his chest leaving him breathless, chest heaving for air. The cough wracked his body, his ribs screaming in protest. _

_Movement at the door caught his attention. Not one of the bikers this time, another figure. A tall, lanky form settled against the doorjamb. A smile creased the younger man's face and John frowned unsure of what he was seeing._

"_Sammy?" he said hesitantly._

_Sam walked calmly into the room carrying something in his hands. At first John though it was clothing, although they kept him naked all the time, humiliation added to the pain. It turned out to be a burlap sack, the kind that John had seen often in his youth working on his family's farm. The lower hem of the sack was dark with brownish fluid, dripping onto Sammy's feet. He looked down and thrust the sack forward toward John._

"_I brought you something, Daddy." _

_John frowned; neither of the boys had called him Daddy in a very long time. Sam opened the sack lowering it so that it was even with John's face. _

"_Don't you want it? I know you do, Dad. He can keep you company."_

"_He?" John whispered and suddenly he didn't want to see what was in the sack, was almost desperate for Sam to take it away. "Please, Sammy don't…"_

_With a sneer Sam upended the sack letting what was in it thump to the floor. The thing was bloody and half rotted, chucks of meat gone from the bone but John could still see that it was a human head; it rolled around settling at John's feet. Clouded green eyes stared up at him. Dean's green eyes. John screamed. _

John was still screaming when Bobby ran into the room. Maggie stumbled into the doorway clutching the jamb for support trying to move as fast as her leg would allow.

Bobby quickly turned on the lamp beside the bed and picked up the bottle of Valium on the table. He filled a syringe and injected the drug into John's i.v. line just as one of them had done for the past five nights.

John was shaking so hard the bed rattled beneath them both. Bobby leaned over taking John's chin in his hand.

"Come on John-boy open your eyes. It's me, good old Bobby. You're here in my house. Come on. I'm sorry; I should have remembered to leave the light on."

John lunged forward grabbing Bobby by his biceps then collapsed against his chest. The older man sat calmly, letting John cling to him, and making sure that he made no quick movements that might startle the other man.

Gently he patted soothing circles on John's back. He was very slowly becoming adjusted to John's need for close physical contact. They all were. And all of them had sat with John just holding him. All of them, but Sam. John was petrified of him and refused to have anything to do with him. Sammy was miserable and distraught about it and yet no-one could get an answer out of John as to why he was so terrified of his younger son.

Without a word Bobby held John tightly against his chest and rode out the fury in John's outburst. The shaking and heaving subsided slowly as the drug kicked in. When John relaxed against him Bobby eased the other man back into the bed.

Dean walked slowly into the room with a bottle of water in his hand. Maggie moved back letting him past. She could see Sam in the hallway just beyond the door, out of John's line of sight. She felt sorry for the younger man and slipped out of the room to catch him in a hug. He stood shivering against her watching his father as much as he could through the door.

Dean settled on the bed opposite Bobby holding the bottle so that John could drink the water. Sighing John's hands worked the top hem of the blanket twisting it. Bobby looked down as John obsessively tugged and twined the blanket around his fingers. With a frown Bobby took John's hand, holding it in his own. John didn't try to pull away.

"You know John; somehow I didn't think I was going to spend my golden years sitting in bed holding hands with you," Bobby said grinning.

Dean snorted laughter and was grateful to see a hint of pink coloring his father's face. John always blushed furiously when he was embarrassed and if he was coherent enough to be embarrassed he was more grounded in reality than he had been.

"I'm sorry, Bobby," John said sighing but the older man just shrugged.

"Ah, hell, you're about the only action I've been getting lately, anyway."

Dean chuckled then said,

"Hey, if you two want to be alone, I'll just step outside."

John yawned and settled back.

"I think the Valium kicked in just in time to save my virtue. Sorry Bobby."

"That's alright, try to get some sleep. Are you okay with the light off?" He reached out to turn off the lamp, but John grasped his wrist.

"Leave it on, okay?"

Maggie was sitting in a chair beside the bed when John woke the next morning. He was dizzy, disorientated from the Valium and the unexpected brightness in the room. She had turned off the bedside lamp sometime during the night or morning he wasn't sure when. Sunlight was streaming in the windows. The curtains were kept wide open so that John could see outside, see that the room wasn't boarded up and kept in shadows.

He groaned and rolled forward tugging at the pillows so that he could sit upright, Maggie rose helping him get adjusted, then checked the i.v. line to make sure he hadn't pulled it loose.

"Water?" he asked, hoarsely.

She picked up the bottle holding it for him until she was sure he had a firm grip on it. He gulped down the water and handed her the bottle.

His face was damp with sweat and she smiled at him.

"I think that it's bath time John."

He flinched.

"Maggie…I"

"No arguments John. Frankly you smell."

She said it without anger, and noted his shamed expression.

"Don't worry about it. I'll get you some clean clothes and we'll get you squared away. I can get Bobby or one of the boys to help if you want."

John shook his head. He was grateful that she didn't mention his tendency to want to be covered up more than was strictly necessary, but six months of being kept naked and half freezing had left him feeling extremely vulnerable. And he needed to be covered all the time. So half the time he woke wringing wet with perspiration from sleeping in a sweater over his hospital gown and swathed in a pile of blankets.

After his bath Maggie brushed John's hair. It was longer than she could ever remember seeing it before; falling over his eyes and around his neck in soft curls. They had kept it long simply because Maggie's one attempt at cutting it had ended very badly. John had refused to have any sharp objects near his eyes so they were fairly sure that at one point during the past six months he had been threatened with having his eyes put out.

Dean smiled at his father. John was shifting uncomfortably in the bed and Dean cocked his head.

"Something wrong, Dad?"

"Yeah, I need to go to the bathroom," John said flushing.

Dean just stood up and pulled a bedpan out from under the bed.

"Problem solved, the bathroom can come to you."

"I hate those things; I really just want to go to the damn toilet."

"Do you really want to walk around with all that tubing going up your…em… you know what?"

John sighed shaking his head. Dean got him settled and stood back.

"About that, how do they get that thing to stay in there?"

His father blushed again.

"After they put it in there's a balloon on the inside end that gets inflated. Which turned out not to be nearly as much fun as I thought it was going to be…"

Grinning Dean snorted.

"Dad!"

Glancing up at his older son from under the curtain of hair John smiled tentatively,

"I guess the doctor would have needed a _head _nurse for that…"

Laughing now Dean turned toward the door.

"Jeeze, Dad, language…"

He turned around at the door.

"Call me when you're done, and don't try to get out of bed. I'll hear you."

Bobby was sitting at the table in the dining room when Dean sat down beside him.

"So how's the old man today?"

"Well, he's telling dirty jokes so I'd say better. If he'd talk to Sammy I'd say great."

John sat back staring down at the tray of food. He was off antibiotics now so they were giving him soft foods but the plate held things that were already cut into small pieces as if he couldn't be trusted with a knife. Truthfully, John wasn't sure that he might not slip and hurt someone so he didn't argue.

As usual one of the others came in to sit with him while he ate. This time it was Maggie. She settled on the chair beside the bed and did a better job at pretending not to notice that he ate things with his fingers than the others. She was reading him headlines out of the paper when Sam walked down the hall. He ducked his head into the room. John stiffened, almost upsetting the tray. Maggie rose as quickly as she was able and got one hand on it keeping it balanced on John's lap.

It was only after Sam had moved out of sight that John returned, half-heartedly, to eating. He did so slowly, methodically, until he finished. She took the tray without a word and sat back down.

"John," Maggie said softly.

He looked pained.

"What's wrong? Why don't you want to talk to Sammy?"

John flinched.

"I don't know," he said quietly, but she could tell he was lying.

John shifted uncomfortably.

"Is there anything that looks like something that the boys need to do in there?" he asked, indicating the paper.

"The boys are doing what they need to do, John. They're staying with their daddy until he recovers. And don't think about sending them out right now. They need this as much as you do."

John was bored, and beginning to get restless. The doctor was still refusing to let him out of bed and the only reason he wasn't pressing him was that John still felt unsteady, disorientated much of the time and afraid that if he did get up he'd only end up flat on his face on the floor. So he sat and waited.

Maggie sighed, watching as John's hands moved obsessively in his lap, twisting and tugging at the hem of the blanket. She kept her gaze down, so that he wouldn't notice and stop. He'd already worried a frayed edge in the material. It was only a matter of time, she supposed, before he broke. And it wasn't going to be pretty when he did.

After lunch John settled back just staring out the window. Sometimes he was annoyed at the way the others treated him, as if he were some kind of invalid who needed to be coddled and protected. But most of the time John was just grateful that it was over. Looking back he had been wrong. He should have never left Dean. He had not really believed that Dean still needed him that much. John had thought he had raised both boys to be stronger than that, to take care of each other without him if need be.

He hadn't figured on them both still depending on their father that much, but that was a mistake as well, all human beings depended on someone, a parent, a lover or just a friend. His time as a prisoner just reinforced that basic human need in John and made him more aware of it in Dean and Sam. He had been wrong in thinking that they could survive alone, not after he had raised them to be so dependant on each other and him as well.

Sighing, John lay back. Suddenly he froze and the room was shrouded in darkness, the humming noises from the other room becoming distorted, transforming to the rough sounds of laughter and heavy movements of men. And John was not alone…

_Dean stood against the wall, shirt torn in shreds around his chest. He fought against the bonds tying his hands behind his back as John struggled against the grip of the two bikers holding him._

_The demon made his appearances as well, still in the body of the short, sandy-haired middle aged man John had seen in the hospital. John smirked at the demon. _

"_I guess you don't get to collect after all. I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that…"_

"_It's no big deal John; I think you highly over-rate your importance in the overall scheme of things. You were just a warm body used to provide the seed for one of mine, Johnny-boy. You're out of the game and believe me, in the end you'll cut another deal, just to end it all."_

"_Bullshit, you bastard, if you think I'll cave in for you..."_

"_Oh, not for me. But for him. You'd do a lot of caving for your good little solider."_

_Dean jerked his arms against the bindings. _

"_Please Dad. Don't you let him kill me!"_

_John stilled, glancing at the figure, tied bloody and shivering in the cold air. He leaned back against the hands holding him captive. _

"_It's not Dean. You don't think I know my own son, my own flesh and blood. He'd never beg like that. Dean would die first, before he'd beg me to give up for him."_

_With a snarl the demon jerked around, a knife suddenly clutched in his hand. He took three steps forward, moving to Dean's side. _

"_Do you really want to take that chance John? All it takes is one word from you and he lives." _

_The knife traced over the smooth golden skin on Dean's chest. The blade dipped cutting a neat line along the top rib, and Dean screamed,_

"_Daddy! Please!"_

_John smiled. _

"_Dean hasn't called me Daddy since that night..."_

_Grunting the demon punched the knife into the golden figure's side. His chest erupted in a geyser of blood, dripping to the floor. Dean sagged, sliding down the wall, and John jerked his arms against the bikers hands, pulling free._

_He staggered forward dropping to his knees. _

"_Dean…Dean, oh god."_

John gasped struggling upright in the bed.

"Dean!" he cried out.

The room was half shadowed, the lamp was turned off but the late afternoon sunlight was filtering in through the window keeping the lower part of the room softly lit but still visible. Something moved in the hallway just out of sight of the door. A form stepped into the room, hesitantly. Suddenly John sat forward his heart pounding in his chest.

The figure moved a little way into the room.

"Dad?" he said quietly.

John shrank back and the tall slender form of his younger son pulled to a halt.

"Dad, can I get you something?"

"No, just don't…I can't. Where's Dean?"

Sam flinched his shoulders slumped in defeat.

"I'll get him for you."

A week later, John was almost desperate to get out of bed. He was feeling better physically and was annoyed at the limitations of having one arm in a cast and the i.v. line in the other arm. He could move somewhat but couldn't read or write easily. He was also annoyed at the catheter but he wasn't willing to try and remove it himself, again. The blinding pain was more than even he was willing to endure.

He stared up at the elderly doctor trying to hide his annoyance and waiting for the older man to take his blood pressure. Finally, the doctor smiled.

"You're doing well John. I'm going to take you off your i.v. line."

"What about the tube going up the other end? Can we dump that too, because I really would like to use that part of my body again?"

The doctor offered him a slightly scandalized glare and John felt his cheeks go warm.

"I meant to pee with, in the toilet… you know, not that other thing."

"The other thing might do you some good," the doctor said winking, and this time John offered the scandalized stare.

"I don't know anyone right off the bat who would…"

"Well, with the i.v. line gone you'll have one good hand," the older man said quietly, clamping off the tubing and pulling the cannula out of John's wrist. John gulped.

"Jeeze, doc, give a man a warning before you say something like that."

"Oh lighten up, John. I'm going to remove the catheter, believe me for the next couple of days you won't be thinking about that other thing."

Dean sat in the chair beside John's bed watching as his father struggled to stay awake.

"You know, Dad, you don't have to keep me company. Take a nap, you need the rest."

"I've been resting for two damn weeks. I should be up on my feet, we have work to do. God knows how much damage is getting done out there…"

"It'll wait Dad. The whole world doesn't revolve around you. The others can manage; we've been doing it for six months."

Dean flinched at John's defeated expression.

"Just take it easy for now. You need to heal up. Then we'll get out there."

John shifted glaring at his son.

"We?"

"Yeah," Dean said stiffly, "You, me and Sam. We went through all this, before. You promised we'd work this together. You've already backed out on that once. I'm not letting you do it again."

"Dean I don't want to argue with you about this, not now. I'll do what I think is best, when I think it should be done."

"We'll you're not ditching us this time. I'll make sure of it."

Yawning John lay back too exhausted to fight with Dean. The younger man stood up, picking up the book he had been reading.

"You get some sleep, Dad. I'll check in on you later."

John shrugged watching Dean disappear out the door. He struggled against the sleep he felt overtaking him knowing that what waited was far from pleasant dreams.

_John shuddered; his body was aching, the cold and starvation working more to wear him down than the actual beatings. Dean was standing in front of him again, the leather strap he held slick with John's blood, shining in the pale light. Panting the younger man stood back. _

"_You know this could all stop, Dad. I don't want to hurt you…I love you Dad."_

_John grinned head dropping to one side. _

"_He'd never say that. I don't know why you keep using Dean. I've seen him dead, I've seen him screaming, I've seen him worse than dead and yet here he is again. I don't believe that Dean would ever do this. I know him."_

_The figure frowned head tuning toward the door, then he stepped back. The demon sidled into the room, pushing the other man away. _

"_So you know your good little soldier, John. Dean would never do this to Daddy. Maybe that's true, but…you know who will. You know who's mine." _

_He grinned._

_John shrank back watching as yet another form filled the doorway. He was taller than all of them, slender and strong. And he smiled that half-guarded smile that John had become so familiar with, as if he had a secret that John could never share, might not even understand. John shivered. Dean was an open book to John, but Sammy?_

_His younger son stooped down to stare his father in the face. Grinning, he took the knife that the demon held out. _

"_You should have never told Dean about me, Dad, it was useless. You trained him to protect me too well. He'll never even see it coming when I cut his heart out. This is where I belong, Dad, with my real family and I'm glad it happened." _

_Sam pulled a lighter out of his jeans pocket holding it under the knife as the blade heated. John could smell the oil on the metal smoking as it grew hotter. When he had the blade red-hot Sam moved forward. _

"_You see Dad, Dean might have been your good soldier but he never really mastered the art of cruelty. You never did either and it's what kept you from being more successful as a hunter, you're still too human, you still feel; guilt, remorse and you're still mired in all that morality. I'm not…"_

_The blade hissed against the skin of John's chest and he writhed in agony screaming._

_Panting he slid away trying to huddled in the corner. _

"_You're not my son..." he whispered._

_Sam smiled, "Are you so sure, Dad?"_

_John retched as the knife blade went into the flame again. He closed his eyes. This was not his boy, not his baby, not the last good thing that John had ever done in his life. He screamed as the blade burned into his thigh jerking his leg back. Sammy wouldn't do this to him._

_But something in the back of John's mind worked itself free. The words another demon had hissed at him as it lay dying. He knew that the potential was there, he'd even whispered the words to Dean. Sammy was not like them, he and Dean. Dean he understood, Dean was like John, watched his back, patched his injuries and worked as John's partner. John got Dean, trusted him. But Sammy…_

Screaming, John jerked awake, feeling the room rotate sharply. His heart was pounding and he couldn't remember where he was at first. The bright sunlight made him wince and his head felt too heavy to hold upright. Suddenly John leaned over the bed and vomited into the trashcan sitting beside it. His chest heaved and he felt a deep pressure squeezing the life out of him. He hated himself more than he had hated anyone in his life. The demon hadn't been able to break him with Dean because the simple truth was that John trusted Dean with his life, John trusted Dean in a way that he had never trusted Sammy. He broke, not from the pain that the shifter had inflicted on him while wearing his younger son's face; he broke because somewhere deep in his heart John had believed that Sam had turned, that Sam hated his father that much and that his baby son could and would do those things to his own father.

Deep sobs wracked John's body, he retched again but there was nothing left to come up. Bobby was at the door before John could think to shut down, wipe the tears away and then he couldn't even think about it because he couldn't have stopped for anything in the world. Sliding onto the bed Bobby pulled John around. He slid his arms around John holding his friend and John pressed his face against Bobby's shirt.

"I believed him," John gasped between sobs. "I believed that Sammy would hurt me. How could I have believed that bastard? How could I not believe in my own kid?"

Bobby leaned over tugging a bottle of water over and holding it for John to drink. The other man sighed, hands shaking, and gave up trying to take the bottle, settling instead for Bobby holding it for him. He sat back staring at the older man when he'd drank his fill.

"I shouldn't have doubted him, Bobby. I should have had more faith in my son. I never doubted Dean. I never believed that Dean would hurt me. And even when it was Sam hurting Dean I always knew that Dean would die right, had lived right. Why couldn't I feel that way about Sam?"

"Hell, John! You, me, Sam, Dean we're all human, we all make mistakes. You just made a mistake John. You let your fears control you. It was just a mistake. You can't let it eat you up like this, and you can't let it cost you your son."

"I can't look him in the face. I know that I lost faith in him. He didn't deserve it."

"Nope, none of us deserve all this but it's the hand we got dealt and we have to play it. Don't make it worse John. Sam doesn't blame you, quit blaming yourself."

John was staring out of the window when he heard movement in the doorway behind him. He turned a little too quickly and felt the room spin. Then suddenly a large, warm hand was on his shoulder holding him. Half expecting to see Dean's worried face John looked up and froze. Sammy was standing beside him, a deeply concerned look on his face. Taking a deep breath John motioned for his younger son to sit down.

Sam settled on the bed, for the first time since his father had been at Bobby's. John was still, his face not as guarded. Reaching forward Sam became aware of the tension coiled in the other man's body, an almost instinctive reaction to flee, but John stayed still. With a half smile Sam slid his hand along the blanket touching just the tips of his father's fingers.

John lifted his hand and then carefully twined his fingers through Sam's. With a sigh Sam let his eyes slip closed. John's body was thrumming with pent up energy but he didn't pull away, merely sat.

For the first time since he had seen Jessica dead and burning, maybe for the first time in his life, Sam was completely at peace. Content just to hold his father's hand. It wasn't much, a small step really, but it was a beginning. With a smile John looked Sam in the eye and winked. Sam began to feel that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

The End


End file.
